


Supporting Actor

by concavepatterns



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Broadway, Living Together, M/M, New York City, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concavepatterns/pseuds/concavepatterns
Summary: “Real attractive.” He laughs as Seb tries to wipe the stray pizza sauce off his chin using one of the cheap, pitifully tiny napkins that’d been provided with their order.“I know.” When Sebastian grins, it’s wide and relaxed and teasing. Dazzling with its sunshine-y brightness. “Try not to fall in love with me.”Too late, Chris thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because we all need a 'Chris lives with Seb during his Broadway stint' fic. Or at least I do ;)  
> Title is based on The Supporting Actor by This World Fair for obvious sappy, supportive reasons.

 

It starts with a phone call.

“Stay at my place,” Sebastian says over the speaker of Chris’ iPhone. “It’ll be more convenient for you, and as an added bonus, you might even get some free advice from an old stage pro.”

“Oh yeah? You know a guy?” Chris plays dumb, grinning, knowing full well that Seb’s referring to his own brief stint on Broadway. _Picnic_. Chris never saw the show, but he’d read the reviews – mostly unkind - gotten angry on Seb’s behalf, and may have possibly drunk-texted him a few morale-boosting, profanity-laden rants telling _Variety_ exactly where they could shove their gaudy effects and malfunctioning tanning booths. “Seriously though. It’ll be for at least six weeks. Maybe eight,” he warns. “I don’t want to get in your way. I can rent a place—”

“My apartment’s not _that_ small.” Chris can practically hear Seb rolling his eyes through the phone. “Stay. I mean it. It’ll be -” there’s a slight pause on the other end of the line, like Sebastian is rapidly flipping through a mental thesaurus, “- fun. Like old times.”

Old times.

Chris’ heart does something weird and twisty and a tiny bit painful in his chest.

The last time they saw each other for any extended period of time, it was during their Asian press tour after Chris had picked up the Cap shield for the final time. Thinking about it still makes him ache in that fond, longing way that good memories do. Him and Seb and Mackie and Scarlett, all together for one last ride.

He misses those days. More specifically, he misses turning a corner and seeing Seb’s familiar, smiling face, if he’s being honest with himself.

They’d tried to keep in touch after all was said and done, but like most promises wrapped up in long-distant obstacles, time and space and busy, conflicting schedules eroded daily calls and texts into weekly ones, then monthly, until that iron-clad friendship had melted and molded into virtual silence interspersed with only the odd quick exchange of birthday or holiday wishes. Like the old, far-away family member whose face you barely remember but you still send a Christmas card to out of obligation. Like that long-forgotten grade-school friend you keep in very vague touch with on Facebook. Like acquaintances; someone worth only the briefest flicker of a thought here and there.  

Chris never thought he’d be able to lump Sebastian into that group.

He was wrong.

And he _hates_ it.

He has to close his eyes for a second before he can get out any kind of reply. “Um, yeah, if you’re sure. I’d, uh, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Sebastian’s voice goes a touch softer, or maybe that’s just Chris’ ears playing tricks on him. “You’re always welcome here.”

Chris’ eyes close again, unprompted, this time followed up by one hand scrubbing roughly over his face.

God, he really needs to hang up soon before he does something stupid.

“I miss you, you know.”

Like that.

On the other end of the line, Sebastian is silent just long enough for Chris’ anxiety to spike through the roof, but then he lets out a quiet breath; the sound an intimate, static-filled echo in Chris’ ear.

“Me too,” Sebastian admits, and there’s no mistaking the slight softness in his tone this time. “Text me the details. I’ll see you soon.”

Now it’s Chris’ turn to breathe out an audible exhale of relief, almost dizzy.

“Soon,” he repeats Seb’s word back to him. A confirmation. A promise.

After he hangs up, Chris throws on his gym shorts, turns on the treadmill, and runs until the rapid pounding of his heart can be blamed on that alone.

 

* * *

 

 

It starts with a knock on the door.

Sebastian lives in a nice remodeled brownstone; old and overflowing with character on the outside, but comfortably modern and lived-in indoors, retaining the beauty of its natural bare bones but doing away with all the annoyances that come with age, like drafty windows and temperamental water pipes.  

Curious ( _nosey_ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Scott says in his head), Chris gawks around as he waits for Sebastian to buzz him in through the front lobby, then gawks some more while climbing the stairs up to the top fourth floor. Of course Seb is Mr. Penthouse. Chris makes a mental note to tease him about it later.

Shifting his suitcase to the opposite hand, he knocks on Sebastian’s door with three quick raps, swallows down the weird flutter of nervousness that erupts in his stomach when he hears the lock click open, then finds himself face to face with Seb for the first time in nearly a year.

Sebastian is already grinning, one of those impossibly bright, eye-crinkling grins of unrestrained happiness that’re infectious to be around. Chris feels himself returning it so wide, it kind of makes his mouth hurt.

“Hi,” Seb says, and fuck, no amount of distant cross-country phone calls could ever do justice to that voice in real life. Chris wants to listen to him talk for hours. Read the owner’s manual for his refrigerator, go through his last tax return line by line, anything that’ll keep that warm, low voice washing over him.   

“Hey, jesus, fuck –” And before Chris even knows what he’s doing, his suitcase hits the floor and he’s got both arms around Seb, taking in the softness of the sweater under his palms, the clean, spicy smell of shampoo when he tilts his nose into the hair above Seb’s temple.

 Sebastian laughs, hugs him back, tight and lingering, then invites him inside.

 

* * *

 

 

It starts with Chris Evans spending two months living with Sebastian Stan.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Variety’s (pretty harsh) review of Picnic can be found [ here](http://variety.com/2013/legit/reviews/picnic-1117948976/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you guys are excited for this fic! Thanks for all the awesome feedback so far! There's one tiny bit of Romanian in this chapter:  
> Îndoielnic = doubtful

 

 

“The den’s not that big,” Sebastian pre-emptively apologizes over his shoulder as he leads Chris down the hallway, “but the couch folds out into a bed, and it’s more private than the living room couch...”

“This is great, really,” Chris assures, almost bumping into Seb’s back when they finally reach the room that does triple duty as Sebastian’s office/home gym/guest room.

It is a little on the small side, he discovers when Sebastian pauses at the doorway and nudges Chris to go in first, but it’s in a cozy, inviting kind of way that makes Chris want to smile. Seb’s already pulled the couch out into bed form, complete with sheets and pillows and a fluffy blue duvet, and Chris briefly wonders what his fabric softener smells like before shoving that creepy thought aside and taking a proper look around. (Besides, he’ll find out soon enough when he goes to sleep tonight. Because that’s a thing now. Him sleeping in Sebastian’s guest room. Tonight. _Every_ night. Jesus Christ.)

The rest of the room’s an eclectic mish-mash of Seb’s personality; picture frames and books crammed onto the small desk that houses his desktop Mac, a set of weights piled in the opposite corner next to a rolled-up yoga mat, a few artistic black and white photos hung together in a tasteful little cluster on one wall.

“It’s great,” Chris repeats, meaning every word. “Thanks, Seb.”

Sebastian smiles slightly, hands tucked into his pockets as he hovers in the doorway. “I cleaned out the closet, if you want to unpack.” Chris must look surprised at that because Seb’s smile slowly grows, lips pulling up with amusement as he adds, “You know I don’t expect you to live out of your suitcase the entire time you’re here.”

“No? Not gonna make me scrub the floors and clean the chimney either?” Chris grins back.

With a laugh, Seb warns, “Don’t give me any ideas.”

They stand there, just looking at each other and smiling stupidly, until Chris realizes he’s been staring for what is definitely a very unsubtle amount of time and quickly cuts his gaze away, clearing his throat. “I...uh, I can earn my keep though,” he says, more serious now. “Groceries, laundry duty, whatever you want.”

“How about cooking?” Sebastian asks, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb as his eyebrows raise inquisitively.

“I’m damn good at reading directions off the back of a box,” Chris answers, trying to play it straight-faced. “Best frozen pizza of your life, I guarantee it.”

Seb laughs at that, and the sound makes Chris’ chest swell with something like pride. “So, take out?”

He grins. “If you’re buying.”

“Of course I am,” Sebastian says, like any other answer would be completely preposterous. “You’re a guest.”

“Ahh,” Chris points an accusing finger at him, feeling that grin widen to ridiculous proportions, “you say that now! See how much you like me in another month when I’m hogging your bathroom and my shit’s all over the place.”

Unconcerned, Seb shrugs. “As long as that shit isn’t specifically related to your time spent in my bathroom...”

Well, fuck.

Chris breaks out into a full-bodied laugh, almost doubling over as he cackles at Seb’s perfect deadpanned delivery. Fucking hilarious. What a guy. “No,” he eventually manages to wheeze out once he’s got some of his breath back, “oh fuck no. You have full permission to kick me out if that happens.”

The look on Seb’s face momentarily shifts into something Chris hasn’t seen before. Something strange, a little softer around the edges, but then it smooths back out into a regular smile, gone in the blink of an eye before he can actually process it.

“ _Î_ _ndoielnic,_ ” Sebastian murmurs, too low for Chris to really make out. Then he clears his throat, straightening up from his lean against the doorframe and adding more clearly now, “Go ahead and unpack. I’ll order us something.”

 

* * *

 

 

When their food arrives – Vietnamese, from a place around the corner that Seb swears by - they dish up heaping plates in the kitchen then migrate over to eat in the living room.

“You don’t mind hanging out like this?” Seb asks half way through the meal. “It’s not too boring? I mean,” he waves his chopsticks in the air, articulating, “you’ve got the whole of New York at your fingertips and we’re eating takeout on the couch.”

 _I’m never bored with you_ , Chris thinks about saying. _You’re incredible. You’re fascinating_. What comes out of his mouth instead is, “Hey, I’ve always been boring. Besides, I shouldn’t be cramping your style for too long. I’m gonna try to be out soon.”

Pausing with his next bite of vermicelli lifted halfway to his mouth, Seb frowns. “What do you mean?”

Chris shifts a bit, feeling weirdly uncomfortable all of a sudden. Put on the spot. “I thought -- rehearsals are gonna be six weeks alone,” he explains awkwardly, “then the actual performances are another six. I was gonna -- I thought I’d crash here while I looked for a place to spend the rest of the time?” 

Gaze dropping to his plate, Sebastian carefully lowers his noodles back down, poking at them with the ends of his chopsticks. (Chris, who is far less coordinated and sophisticated, has opted for a fork.) “I said you could stay,” Seb says, eyes still avoiding Chris. “I meant the whole time. But if you want to leave –”

“ _No_ ,” Chris blurts, then shoves an entire piece of barbecue pork into his mouth to keep it from word-vomiting out anything more stupid than it already has. He chews for a minute, swallows, then adds, more cautiously now, “I’d like to stay. For all of it.  If you’ll have me.”

At that, Sebastian finally looks up.  His eyes are a pale dove grey in the dim evening light of the room, and the weight of that gaze does nothing to ease the weird tight feeling in Chris’ stomach. “I already said yes. I meant it. As long as you want.”

Chris rubs one sweaty palm on the knee of his jeans, glad for the low light when he feels himself flush warm all over. “Well then you might never get rid of me,” he tries to joke, though his voice comes out more husky than witty. He solves that problem by shoving another forkful of food in his mouth.

There’s a beat of silence, then Seb answers, “Good.”

Chris inhales a noodle.

He reaches for his water, drinks half the glass in one go while Sebastian fights a blush and continues to poke away at his own food.

Neither of them are brave enough to continue that particular discussion from there, and once they’re both relatively sure that Chris isn’t going to require the Heimlich maneuver, a few awkwardly silent moments pass before Seb valiantly steps up to the plate, getting the conversation ball rolling again.

“So,” he offers, making a hard turn away from their previous topic, “excited for tomorrow?”

Rehearsals. Yes. The whole reason why Chris is here. It’s funny how after just a few hours in Seb’s company, he’d almost entirely forgotten.

“Excited and terrified,” he confesses, more honest than he’d be if he were talking to anyone other than Seb. “I...well, you know. I’ve wanted to do this forever, but live theatre? No cuts or second takes? It’s fucking scary, man.” Chris forces out a laugh, short and self-deprecating. “I keep thinking I’m gonna fuck it up, throw the whole show, and I haven’t even stepped on the damn stage yet.”

Sebastian hums thoughtfully, leaning forward to deposit his plate onto the coffee table. “You know that improv rule? Always say yes to everything?”

Chris nods.

“Maybe you can try to remember that here,” Seb suggests. “If something goes wrong, tell yourself to say yes to it. Accept, adapt, and carry on.”

It sounds great in theory, but in practice...well, Chris has never been all that great when it comes to the practical application side of things. “Yeah but I don’t – I won’t know - how do I _do_ that, though?”

“Well,” and now Sebastian actually fucking _smirks_ at him, leaning back easily against the couch, one arm stretched out to lay along the top of it, “there’s this new-fangled thing called acting...”

That makes Chris laugh. “Yeah, yeah, wise guy,” he chuckles, throwing his balled-up napkin in Seb’s direction.

It hits him square in the chest and Sebastian grins before that smile drops, expression gaining more sincerity now. “You won’t though. Fuck it up, I mean. You’re amazing – an amazing actor,” he clarifies, and maybe it’s only the way the low light is slanting across his face but it looks like his cheeks actually darken just a little. “You’ve got this. You’re gonna do great.”

The confidence in Seb’s voice – that he’s so sure Chris is going to nail this thing – is simultaneously inspiring and intimidating. Fuck, if he messes this up, that’s one more face to let down. One more person to disappoint. And it’ll be _Seb_ of all people. God, wouldn’t that just be the biggest fucking knife through Chris’ chest.

Ignoring the way his stomach turns over at the thought, Chris can only force out a faint smile and hope Seb’s right.

 

* * *

 

 

Post-dinner, they wash dishes in companionable silence, standing elbow to elbow at the sink while Chris scrubs and Sebastian dries, before returning to the couch for some food coma induced sleepy TV watching.

They finally call it a night somewhere around 11. Chris changes out of his jeans, brushes his teeth in Seb’s bathroom, then slides under the covers of his –of _Seb’s_ \- bed.

And when he presses his face into the pillow, breathing in, it smells fresh and warm and faintly sweet. Like summer sunshine.

Chris allows himself a moment to smile like a fucking moron, then settles in and closes his eyes.

Mystery solved.

 

* * *

 

 

He sleeps like the dead, startling awake only when the alarm starts blaring on his phone.

With a groan, Chris heaves himself up onto an elbow and fumbles one arm out of the blankets to silence it.

6:30.

Ugh.

A little voice in the back of his head automatically whispers _rehearsal day_ , and even if he wanted to go back to sleep, now he’s too antsy with nerves to even begin to relax again any time soon.

With a tired groan he rolls out of bed, throws on a t-shirt, and heads into the bathroom to take care of all the usual morning maintenance.

Sebastian’s a late sleeper, Chris knows, so it just about scares the shit out of him when, twenty minutes later, showered and feeling moderately more human, he stumbles out into the kitchen and sees a body already standing at the stove.

“Morning,” Seb greets, flipping what looks like an omelet over in a frying pan. He’s dressed in plaid sleep pants and an old grey t-shirt that looks soft to the touch, face still a little sleepy and hair all over the place. It’s certainly not the worst thing Chris has woken up to lately.

“Hey. You’re up early,” he notes. “What’s all this?”

“First day of rehearsals,” Seb says, shrugging one shoulder like that’s all the explanation Chris should need. He carefully tilts the pan, sliding his finished omelet out onto a plate. “Consider it a good luck breakfast.”

Chris stares at him, feeling something in his chest go all warm and too-tight. No one but his mom has ever done this kind of shit for him before, and doesn’t that fact just hit him straight in the sensitive spot that’s usually reserved only for sunrises and especially heart-wrenching Disney movies. “Oh wow. Jesus. Seb. This is – wow. You didn’t have to –”

“Just say thank you,” Seb directs, throwing Chris a proverbial life preserver before his floundering can get any worse.

“Thank you,” Chris repeats dutifully, shaking himself out of his minor state of shock and finally moving forward to grab a mug out of the cupboard. He has to sneak in behind Seb’s back to do so, reaching for the appropriate shelf which happens to be directly over Sebastian’s right shoulder, and when he takes that final step forward into Seb’s space, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to just reach out and squeeze one side of his waist in a brief, silent show of thanks.   

Mouth ticking up into a half-grin, Sebastian lightly elbows him back, an unspoken _you’re welcome_ , and when Chris proceeds to fly through his first day of rehearsals without so much as a hitch, he credits all of it to his good luck omelet.

                                                                                                                                   

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is hit with some revelations, and makes a pretty ambitious resolution we all know he won't keep ;)

 

 

“Hey,” Chris says out of the blue while they’re eating breakfast together on Saturday morning, six days into his stay. “I’ve got tomorrow off. We should go out later. Grab some food, make a night of it.”

Across the table, Sebastian’s eyes slowly drop from where they’re focused up on Chris’ face, slipping down to land on his plate, suddenly very interested in the task of pushing scrambled eggs around with his fork. “I, uh, I can’t tonight. I have a...thing.”

“A thing?” Chris bites into his toast, trying not to spew crumbs as he mumbles around the mouthful, “You never mentioned a thing.”

“It’s a – a friend set me up,” Seb awkwardly replies, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he continues stab around at his eggs. “It’s kind of a date.”

Totally blindsided, the toast in Chris’ mouth turns dry as dust. He struggles to swallow it down, finally managing to croak out a weak response of, “Oh.”

A date.

Sebastian has a _date_.

He can’t wrap his head around it, like his brain’s dead set on rejecting the idea. _Violently_.

Apologetic, Seb starts to explain, “I would’ve said something sooner -”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Chris insists, setting the rest of his toast back onto his plate. Suddenly he’s not feeling quite so hungry anymore.

Sebastian still looks unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” And then, somehow both desperately needing and dreading the answer, his mouth takes it upon itself to inquire, “Who’s it with?”

“No one you would know.” Seb opens his mouth like he’s going to speak again but then hesitates, as though he’s not sure if he should actually say what he wants to say next. “It’s...it’s with a guy, actually.”

“Oh,” Chris says again. Broken record. Now he finally understands what the phrase ‘mind reeling’ truly feels like. The inside of his head’s gone entirely blank, fizzling with white noise like static on a TV screen, and he offsets the resulting stilted silence by reaching for his mug, taking a long drink of coffee.

“Is that a problem?” Sebastian asks a bit defensively, both eyebrows lifting up, apparently taking Chris’ extended silence as a bad thing.

Horrified, Chris nearly spits out his drink. “No!” he assures, setting his mug down so quickly the contents almost slosh up over the side. “Jesus, no. I don’t – you know I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Okay.” Sebastian is still watching him, face unreadable. “Just checking.”

“I’m...I’m glad you told me,” Chris tells him. It’s not a lie – he _is_ glad Sebastian feels like he can trust Chris with a confession like this – but at the same time, he could very much do without ever hearing another word about Seb’s dating life.  It’s doing weird things to the pit of his stomach. “Thank you. For trusting me. And I won’t say anything to anyone. I hope you know that.”

That pulls a tiny smile out of Seb. “Of course I do. Though I feel like I should remind you that you _did_ out your own brother during an interview...”

Chris groans, letting his head hang dramatically. “Never gonna live that down, am I.”

Sebastian flashes him a grin, quick and sharp. “Nope. It probably doesn’t come as all that much of a surprise though. Me, I mean,” he clarifies, grin flattening out until it’s a thinner, more self-deprecating smile. Aiming for humor but coming up short. “My filmography pretty much speaks for itself.”

Chris mentally filters through a few possible responses to that (the majority of which will definitely end with him unintentionally inserting foot into mouth) before finally settling on, “Well, you do look pretty when you cry.”

It has the desired effect and Sebastian laughs, head tilted back and eyes squeezing shut and everything. “Hey!” he eventually manages to chortle out through his laughter.

“What, it’s a compliment!” Chris insists, grinning like crazy, and man, sitting around the table like this, making Sebastian laugh all loud and bright and happy, he feels lighter than he has in ages.

For a minute, it’s enough to make him forget about Seb’s looming evening plans hanging heavy over his head like a storm cloud. For a minute, it’s enough to distract from the strange, tight coil of feelings that still sit low and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach. For a minute, everything is as it should be. Normal. _Perfect_ , even.

Chris gladly takes the reprieve while he can.

 

* * *

 

 

 By the time he makes it back from the theatre that evening, Seb’s already gone out. The apartment is especially quiet without him and it makes Chris feel...off. Weird. Unsettled.

He changes into his sweatpants and heats up a leftover plate of broccoli chicken pasta, then sits on the couch with a beer and SportsCenter for company, trying not to wonder every three seconds exactly what Sebastian’s doing right now.

The thing is, he knows that Seb’s an attractive guy. Charming and interesting and funny as hell. Half the world’s population is probably in love with him, Chris thinks, and for good reason too.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone wants to take him out. Get to know him. _Date_ him, even. And Sebastian deserves every minute of that; nice dinners and good company and being treated like the fucking awesome human being he is. What _does_ come as a surprise though is the way that thought sits so poorly with Chris.

It’s not an issue of it being a guy who’s taken him out – god no, Chris had been entirely sincere when he told Seb that didn’t matter, and it certainly doesn’t make him view Seb any differently – what it is, Chris thinks, is the fact that Sebastian’s on a date with anyone at all.

Logically, Chris knows he has no right to think that way, no right to claim ownership or dictate anything to do with who Sebastian sees (and he sure as fuck doesn’t want to be that gross, overbearing guy) but the problem is, when it comes to Seb, most of Chris’ thoughts are of the distinctly illogical variety. It’s like some kind of super power. One smile and Chris goes dumb in his presence.

He just...he doesn’t want Sebastian to drift away. To find someone else who makes him laugh the way Chris does, to share inside jokes with and commiserate over strict meal plans and long days of filming the way they do.

Chris likes what they have now - he relies on it, if he’s being honest with himself. Some days there’s no better stress reliever than coming back to the homey familiarity of Seb’s apartment, no better source of comfort than popping open a beer and sitting shoulder to shoulder in easy, relaxed silence on Seb’s tiny balcony, tipping his head back to watch the sky while New York buzzes on busily below them. And maybe it’s childish, too stupidly naive or something, but Chris doesn’t want any of that to change. He doesn’t want someone else intruding on those little moments, upsetting the routine they’ve come to build together, gradually nudging Chris back into third-wheel status until the bolts come loose and that wheel falls off all together, leaving him in the dust.

Sebastian deserves to be happy though, Chris firmly reminds himself. That’s the important thing. But fuck, why does it have to be with somebody else?

And that’s when it hits him.

Just like that, as if he’s putting on glasses for the very first time, the source of all Chris’ discomfort, all those troubled knots in the pit of his stomach, slides into focus and becomes startlingly clear: he doesn’t want some random fucking guy taking Seb out; he wants it to be _him_.

Well, shit.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s still sitting (well, more like snoozing at this point) on the couch many hours later when keys jingle in the lock and the door cracks open a moment later, Sebastian slipping quietly inside.

At the sound, Chris startles himself awake and pushes upright from his slouched position where he’s wedged into the corner of the couch, scrubbing one hand over his face before checking the time, squinting a little to make out the lit-up numbers on Seb’s PVR.

1 a.m.  Jesus.

Sebastian looks surprised to see him still conscious, pausing half way through hanging up his jacket to turn and blink in Chris’ direction, and god, now that Chris is fully aware of the extent of his feelings for this guy, it’s like he can’t keep his eyes off of Seb. They’re continuously drawn to the smooth, tanned skin of his hands, the strong line of his throat, the curve of his mouth. Fuck.

“You’re still up?” Sebastian’s voice sounds a little raspy, like he’s been shouting or maybe indulging in a few cigarettes. Assuming he and his mystery date went to a club, it’s probably both.

“Not exactly.” Chris grimaces, raising his arms over his head and trying to stretch out his stiff spine. “Must’ve dozed off.”

Seb carefully sticks his jacket on the hook by the door, back mostly turned to Chris as he asks slowly, “You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?”

Chris can’t quite decipher the tone he says it in, but it feels like a loaded question; that much he’s sure of. Almost...almost like Sebastian is daring him to say yes.

 _Wishful thinking_ , Chris tells himself.

“No,” he lies. Then, because he’s apparently a sucker for punishment, “How’d it go?”

Sebastian shrugs, kicking off his shoes before rounding the coffee table and dropping heavily onto the couch next to Chris, taking the middle cushion instead of the empty far side, so close their thighs almost touch. “Fine.”

Chris frowns. After six hours of waiting and stressing and over-thinking, ‘fine’ is not good enough for his poor afflicted brain. “So you had a good time?” he pushes. “Think you’ll see him again?”

Sebastian looks at him strangely. “Maybe. I don’t know yet. Does it matter if I do?”

 _Yes_ , Chris wants to yell from the damn rooftops. _Yes, it fucking matters. It should be me buying you dinner, making you laugh, walking you home for the night_.

“No,” he chokes out quietly instead, looking down at his lap. His sweatpants have a hole along the seam of one knee. Real classy, Chris. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”

When he glances back up, Sebastian’s mouth is set into an odd frown, and Chris has the distinct impression that he just failed a test he didn’t know he’d been taking.

“It’s fine,” Seb waves off the apology, sounding suddenly exhausted. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

When he pushes himself up off the couch, it takes every ounce of Chris’ willpower not to reach out and grasp one wrist, asking him to stay. He clasps his own hands together instead, fingers interlocked tight, forcing them still.

“Okay,” he says, having to clearing his throat before the words come out normally. “Good night.”

He’s trying to keep it together, mentally steeling himself for the sight of Sebastian walking away, only Seb doesn’t leave immediately. Instead, he pauses right where he is, looming tall over Chris, framed almost perfectly by the V of Chris’ spread knees. He’s close enough that Chris can smell his cologne, warm and earthy and spicy. So close that he can nearly feel the heat emanating from Sebastian’s body. So fucking close, the button on his jeans is almost at eye-level, and for one wild, fleeting second Chris can’t help but think of how fucking easy it would be to just put his hands on those hips, lean forward and press the heat of his mouth to the front of that rough-looking denim.

Fucking hell.

His breath is coming out faster now and he prays like hell that his pupils aren’t all blown up wide, because Seb is still staring, assessing, looking down at him for a few long, heavy seconds in which Chris feels more exposed than he ever has in his life, like everything he’s been suppressing on the inside has suddenly been projected outwards for all to see. Magnified and lit up on a fifty foot screen.

It’s terrifying and he wants to shrink back from it, wants to withdraw and run away, but he can’t fucking look away from Seb’s face.

Seconds tick by – maybe hours, Chris can’t tell - and then the moment breaks, Sebastian’s gaze skittering away to land somewhere over Chris’ left shoulder instead.

Chris takes what feels like his first real deep breath in ages and tries to school his expression into something a little less openly moonstruck.

“Good night,” Seb echoes at last, low and so quiet Chris has to strain to hear it, and then with eyes still resolutely turned away, he moves, stepping carefully over Chris’ feet and disappearing down the hall.

The minute Chris hears the bedroom door click closed, he squeezes his eyes shut, letting his head fall back against the couch as all the air leaves his lungs in a rush so harsh, it almost leaves him dizzy.

Fuck.

He is so out of his fucking depth here.

Sure he’s bumbled his way through interviews gushing about Hemsworth’s arms or Chris Pine’s eyes, but in reality, Chris has never been with another man before. Like, _at all_.  Yeah he’s found plenty of guys attractive in the past, but it’s always been a detached sort of appreciation. Like when you see a nice house or an expensive car that you know you’re never going to buy. Fleeting admiration from afar.  Hell, back then he hadn’t had all that much of an urge to even _act_ on those impulses.

Between then and now, he’s not even sure of what’s changed.  Thinking back, he can’t pinpoint one single, defining moment when he first realized he would gladly do anything that's even vaguely sexual for and/or with Sebastian Stan if given half the chance. From almost the moment they met, Chris has been wavering dangerously on the tight-rope line between envy and attraction to that face, that laugh, that charming, brilliant personality. It’s like the feeling’s been silently building, creeping up on him for months (hell, who is he kidding, it’s been fucking _years_ at this point) just to jump him from behind at this exact moment, finally tipping the scales in one direction, pushing him over the line until envy’s nowhere close to being on Chris’ emotional radar any longer. It’s entirely, blatantly, attraction now.

And it’s weird. Scary, almost. Because they’re _friends_. Friends and co-workers and immortalized, high-profile members of the Marvel mega-dynasty (and fuck, doesn’t _that_ part make him sweat). So if given that glimmer of a chance, Chris has to ask himself: would he even act on it?

Probably not.

A quick fuck - however satisfying he imagines it may be - is not worth the loss of what he has now. Not worth missing out on this new sense of closeness he and Seb have developed over the last week, not worth the absence of all the support and laughter and general ease of being together that Chris has come to rely on so much. So no, he won’t allow himself to think dick-first in this instance. There’s way too much at stake.

Besides, it’s probably just the novelty of living together that’s making him think he feels more for Seb than he actually does; existing in an idyllic little bubble the way they have been. Like a honeymoon period, in a sense. At least that’s what it feels like to Chris. Who knows how Seb feels about the whole thing. For all Chris knows, Sebastian could be counting the days until the figurative thorn in his side finally gets plucked out and jetted back across the country to LA. He seemed sincere when he told Chris he could stay for as long as he’d like, but what if that was just manners talking? What it he regrets the offer now?

Which brings Chris to another valid (and rather dismaying) point: who’s to say Sebastian would even _want_ Chris like that? What’s he got to offer to a guy like Seb anyway? You can dress him up and call him a celebrity, but at the heart of it he’s still just a dumb Boston meatball. Seb is all...cultured and shit. Smart. Charismatic. Could hold his own in a conversation about Schumann in one moment then belt out all the words to some Green Day in the next. He’s a fucking marvel of a human being. Endlessly fascinating. And Chris...well, Chris is predictable. Boring. A standard product of Massachusetts. He likes beer, his dog, a good game of football. Just like a thousand other guys out there.

So when he puts the two side by side, him and Seb, mentally comparing, the difference is almost laughable. Seb is miles and miles above him, the New York skyscraper, shiny and bright and captivating from all angles. Chris is plain, sturdy, unremarkable, the pavement underfoot. The two are never meant to meet.

So what it means, Chris decides with iron-clad finality, is that he needs to lock this shit down deep. Ignore the strange new flutter in his stomach whenever Seb smiles at him. Don’t act on those sudden impulses to reach out and touch an arm, a hip, the curve of one shoulder. Play it cool, just like they’ve always been.

Sebastian is too important to gamble away his friendship for the chance of something more, and he deserves a hell of a lot more than having Chris fuck everything up over something as stupid as lust. Chris’ll be damned before he ever lets them crash and burn like that.

Besides, he reminds himself, he’s only here for a few months. Surely he can survive that.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Week two gets harder.

Not with Seb – or at least not only with Seb, Chris amends, since he still hasn’t managed to get his blatant staring and dumb, sappy smiles under control – but with rehearsals now as well.

The first week had been all about learning lines and hitting his marks, but now he has to actually _recall_ all that stuff from the previous week, begin diving into actual scenes, and doing so on a big lit-up stage, in front of hundreds of empty seats that won’t stay that way for long, is proving to be even more daunting than he’d originally thought.

It’s half way through that second week when one day in particular chooses to be spectacularly shitty for Chris. First, he can’t remember how he’s supposed to exit his first scene, then he ends up fumbling more lines than not, and finally the lines he _does_ manage to remember he starts in on too early, accidentally talking over another cast-mate. Fuck.

Everyone’s great about it, entirely understanding of the fact that some days simply nothing wants to go right. No one ever calls him out on his screw ups or snaps at him to get his shit together, but that almost makes it worse. Makes it sort of feel like pity. Like they’re treating him with kid gloves. Chris can’t stand it.

So when they call it a wrap around six that evening and half-formed plans start to get tossed around for grabbing a round or two of drinks at a place down the street, Chris readily agrees. After the day he’s had, he’s damn well ready to get drunk and unwind.

While the rest of the group heads out, Chris hangs back for a moment, pulling out his phone and firing off a short text to Seb, letting him know he’ll be home late. It feels like such a ridiculously domestic act, the kind of automatic, thoughtful courtesy only a long-time couple would have for each other, his hands keep fumbling and he has to go back and fix at least three different typos before the message is even somewhat coherent. And even after he slips his phone back into his pocket, it’s another good five or ten minutes before the blush finally fades from his face.

 

* * *

 

 

God, why did he think it was a good idea to get drunk?

After nearly dropping Seb’s spare set of apartment keys for the fourth time, Chris finally gets the lock opened and stumbles his way through the front door, more uncoordinated than usual, which is really saying something.

It’s still relatively early on in the night, just a little after 9 p.m., so Sebastian’s still hanging out on the couch, reading a script with the TV on for background noise.

When he hears Chris come trampling in like a one man herd of clumsy elephants, he looks up with a knowing smirk. “Hey there Cinderella. How was the ball?”

Chris snorts, amused but trying not to show it. “Shut up,” he replies with no heat, struggling to get out of his coat. One arm seems to be perpetually stuck in its sleeve and by the time he gets it loose he’s sweating a little, flushed in the face.

From the way Sebastian keeps biting down on his lip, it’s clear he’s trying not to laugh. Chris doesn’t even have it in him to be mad about it. If anything, it’s actually kind of cute.

“Get over here,” Seb says, patting the empty couch cushion next to him. “Do you need water or anything? Advil?”

Chris shuffles on over and flops into the waiting space, immediately shutting his eyes and letting out a long groan. “No. Maybe. Ask me again in an hour.”

“I’ll ask you again in ten minutes,” Sebastian replies, voice hovering somewhere in between entertained and fond.

“That works too,” Chris easily agrees, eyes still closed, barely resisting the urge to slump the weight his tired body against Seb’s nearest shoulder. It would probably be warm and sturdy, and smell nice too. Fuck, now he really wants to do it.

From somewhere over in that general direction he can hear the quiet rustle of papers - probably Seb setting his script aside - and then Seb’s voice follows a moment later. Slightly softer, sympathetic. “Today was a tough one, huh?”

Reluctantly prying his eyes open, Chris turns his head and blinks a few times before Sebastian’s face fully comes into focus. “What gave it away?” he tries to joke, but it comes out pretty flat. He’s too distracted by watching Seb to remember to inject any real tone into it.

Sebastian lifts one shoulder, smiling a tiny, barely there smile as he explains simply, “I know you.”

And fuck, doesn’t Chris’ stomach go weightless at that, though he’s not sure whether it’s the booze or the words that are to blame.

“So,” Sebastian continues, oblivious to Chris’ sudden internal bewilderment, “want to tell me about it?”

“When did you become Dr. Phil?” Chris deflects, because he’s rapidly approaching a dangerous level of drunken emotionalness and if he doesn’t play this off as a joke, he’s gonna start bawling in Seb’s arms at any moment now.

Sebastian, it seems, is not so amused. He does one of those flat, frowny things with his face that instantly makes Chris feel like a monumental asshole.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, pulling in a deep, centering breath and letting it out slow and controlled before he goes on, serious now, “it’s just...everyone’s so fucking good, they all know what they’re doing, and then there’s me. I fucked up at least half my shit today, and nobody said anything, but it’s like I could feel them all thinking it. _Fancy fuckin’ A-lister can’t string together two words in real time_ ,” he mimics sardonically before heaving out a sigh. “Fuck.”

“Hey, it’s still early on,” Seb reminds him. “You’ll come into your own. And you know that saying, comparison’ll kill you.”

Chris huffs out a humorless laugh. “Easier said than done.”

Seb smiles thinly, like he’s mentally replaying a particularly cringe-worthy moment in his own acting history. “Yeah, don’t I know it.”

And shit, if that doesn’t make Chris feel like the world’s biggest tool right now.

“Sorry, I didn’t think - you never said – was it hard? For you?” Chris asks. Sebastian’s never really talked to him about his own time on stage. Chris isn’t sure whether it’s a sore topic or not.

Sebastian looks down at his hands, fingers laced together and hanging loose between his spread knees. “Some days. It’s hard not to take it personally when you put yourself out there and people don’t like what they see.”

God. Chris’ heart breaks three times over for the guy.

“I like what I see,” he finds himself blurting out, drunk but more truthful than he’d ever admit. “Not just your body –” Jesus, Chris, way to make it weird right off the bat “- fuck, I don’t mean I like your body - not that it’s not nice to look at,” he fumbles, trying to explain himself and failing pretty epically. “What I’m saying is you’re, like, all brilliant and funny and talented as hell. I like everything about you, and everyone else would be pretty fuckin’ stupid not to. So if they don’t...well, fuck them. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

Rambling monologue complete, he catches his breath, watching while Sebastian shakes his head a little - clearly fighting a smile from the way the corner of his mouth keeps twitching - before reaching up to run a hand though his hair. He looks...flustered, Chris thinks. Embarrassed. Maybe a tiny bit bashful even. Like he’s not used to having so much praise heaped onto him.

“That’s...wow. Thanks.” Seb stops trying to hold back that smile now, and fuck, the full force of it, big and genuine and still tinged with a hint of endearing embarrassment, feels like a physical force slamming into Chris’ chest.

So he blames that moment of drunken, awe-struck disoriented wonder for what he does next: instinctively reaching one hand out and laying his palm on the top of Seb’s knee.

Like he’s moving in slow motion, Sebastian looks down at his leg, up at Chris’ face, then back down to his leg again before finally, tentatively, laying his hand on top of Chris’, fingers sliding like puzzle pieces into the empty spaces between Chris’ own, until they’re completely pressed together. Almost, in a way, holding hands.

Chris’ lungs stop dead in their tracks but he still manages to squeeze out with what little air he has left, because it’s important that Seb hears it, “I mean it.  You’re so good. At like, _everything_. And I –” think I might love you, never want to leave, feel like I could burrow down deep and stay in your home, your life, like this forever “—want you to remember that. Because it’s so fuckin’ true, Seb. You have no idea.”

Sebastian visibly swallows, tongue sneaking out to wet his dry lips. “It’s – the same goes for you, you know,” he replies haltingly, voice low and brimming with an emotion Chris is still too fuzzy-headed to truly decipher. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Please. You’re...you’re really great, Chris.”

Voice drying up, Chris can do nothing but stare and god, Seb seems so much closer now – did one of them start leaning in? – eyes big and pale; otherworldly, almost. Hand still warm and reassuring where it lays over top of Chris’ own. Bottom lip all slick and pink from the work of his tongue. It looks soft, Chris thinks. Really soft. And if he tilts his head in just a little bit more, he could find out if it’s exactly as smooth and invitingly plush as it looks.

He’s seriously considering it, a moment away from saying to hell with it and giving in to the pull of temptation, when Sebastian’s phone suddenly goes off, blaring loud from its resting place in the middle of the coffee table.

At the noise they both jerk apart, Seb swearing and scrambling up off the couch to scoop the phone up. “Shit, it’s my agent. I was supposed – I forgot, I have a meeting thing. Teleconference –” he waves a hand around, frowning, like the right words are being stubborn and won’t come to him in English.

“No, yeah, go ahead,” Chris says, relieved by how steady his voice comes out. “It’s fine, answer it.”

Seb shoots him a grateful look before accepting the call, raising the phone to his ear and getting out a hurried greeting as he nearly trips on one leg of the coffee table, manages to catch himself, and then half-jogs down the hall towards the privacy of his room.

Once he’s out of sight, Chris immediately flops sideways onto the couch cushions, trying to breathe, heart hammering like it’s trying to leap straight out of his chest. The plummeting drop after a hit of adrenaline. Fuck. What the hell was he thinking? He almost _kissed_ Sebastian, and he probably – scratch that, _definitely_ \- would have followed through if that call hadn’t interrupted. Chris sure as hell wanted to, and he thought that maybe, from the look on Seb’s face, for a minute he’d kind of wanted it too.

_Don’t be a moron, Evans_ , he tells himself firmly. _You’re fucking drunk, that’s all._

And with that rousing, eloquent pep talk complete, he heaves himself up onto his feet and goes in search of the Advil.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update might take a little longer, but I can guarantee it will be worth the wait ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter maaaybe qualifies as M, but that ‘slow burn’ tag also still applies. You'll see what I mean. I welcome all muttered curses and fist-shaking in the comments :)

 

They’re in the middle of an exceptionally lazy Friday evening at home when Sebastian’s phone starts to vibrate with a text alert. Then another. And another. And another, and another.

Chris, who is currently channel-hopping indecisively between basketball highlights and American Ninja Warrior, finally loses out over his curiosity and glances over after the sixth insistent buzz, eyebrows going up in question.

“Mister popular,” he says, teasing, as Sebastian leans forward to scoop up his phone from the coffee table and begin scrolling through the rapid-fire series of incoming messages.

Seb snorts at the joke then goes silent for a minute as he reads, concentrating in a way that makes Chris want to reach out and smooth the little furrow between his eyebrows, but before that thought can translate into action, Seb’s breaking out into a smile, expression easing.

“Say hi to Hayley,” he tells Chris, attention still mostly fixed down on his phone as he starts typing out a reply.

Caught off guard, Chris blinks and echoes, “Hi” automatically. “What’s she up to?”

“She’s here. Well, at JFK,” Sebastian explains, hitting send on his own message before looking back over at Chris. “There was a delay with her connection and now she‘s stuck with a six hour layover, so she wants to meet up. Here,” he says, and then he’s leaning all the way over into Chris’ personal space, one shoulder pressing warm and hard into Chris’ chest as Seb angles the screen of his phone in Chris’ direction, letting him read the ongoing barrage of texts.

Seb could have just handed the phone over, but instead Chris now has a head of soft, dark hair tickling his nose and one surprisingly pointy elbow poking him somewhere in the general area of his spleen. It’s uncomfortable as hell. He loves it.

Willing himself not to blush at all the sudden physical contact, Chris tilts his head to look around Seb’s own and quickly scans the lines of text.

“I’m gonna tell her you’re here. We can all do dinner or something,” Sebastian says, leaning away just a fraction, enough to peer up at Chris and confirm, “is that okay?”

Jesus Christ. Having Seb practically draped across him, looking up expectantly with those clear blue-grey eyes, is almost enough to put Chris into an early grave. His heart’s sure trying to do something at the moment; good or bad or possibly both. It’s kind of hard to tell and his brain’s too distracted by the sudden onslaught of _Seb, Seb, Seb_ in all his senses - sight and touch and smell - to spare any effort to interpret it.

Clearing his throat, Chris manages to scrabble together enough functioning brain cells to answer, “Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun.”

And it does. Really. He fuckin’ loves Hayley and they haven’t seen each other in ages so they’re overdue for it, but at the moment, staying planted on the couch with a lapful of Sebastian Stan sounds like an equally tempting use of his time.

It’s both a relief and a disappointment when said lapful moves away a moment later.

Straightening back up, Seb returns to his own side of the couch and starts composing a reply. Within approximately three seconds of sending it, Hayley is writing back with a slightly distressing array of excited emojis:

                _Let’s go dancing!!!_

“Oh god,” Chris says, rubbing a hand over his eyes after Seb shows him the latest text. “I’m going to regret saying yes to this. I can feel it already.”

Sebastian laughs. “You don’t even know where we’re going yet!”

“Regret,” Chris repeats mournfully. “So much regret.”

 “You’ll be fine,” Seb says, smiling and nudging him with an elbow. “Besides, I’ll look out for you. Keep you from doing anything dumb.”

He says it lightly, almost jokingly, but there’s an undercurrent of sincerity in Seb’s voice that warms Chris’ insides like a mug of hot chocolate. He swallows, chuckling a little as he replies, “You’ve really got your work cut out for you there, pal. Dumb’s my middle name.”

“Your middle name is Too Hard on Himself,” Seb counters, hopping up from the couch and giving Chris a playful little poke in the side of the head as he passes by. “Go get changed, we’ve got a lady to pick up.”  

 

* * *

 

 

The club they end up at isn’t actually all that bad, Chris admits as he sips on his beer from his seat at a booth along the outskirts of the room, watching the dense sea of bodies moving out on the dance floor.

Seb and Hayley are somewhere in that crowd and it takes Chris a few moments of people-scanning before he can locate them again, finally catching a glimpse of Hayley’s laughing face and Sebastian’s bright, amused grin as they bump and shimmy against each other. The sight automatically makes Chris smile.

Hayley looks just as effortlessly gorgeous as always in jeans and a loose floral top while Seb...jesus, he must have unearthed some relics from his old wardrobe back in those early New York party-scene days. His t-shirt is white, almost transparently thin, and v-necked enough to show off the entirety of his throat along with a teasing inch or so of sparse chest hair. And his pants... Fuck. Chris isn’t gonna go anywhere near that department. All he knows is that they’re black and must be painted on. So snug, he can’t help but wonder how the hell Seb’s gonna get out of them later tonight.

And shit, now his brain’s providing some very vividly detailed answers to that question and his throat’s gone all dry and he’s definitely been staring for far too long.

Chris tries to force his eyes away but it’s a moment too late. They’ve caught him looking and now Hayley starts frantically waving him over, mouthing, “come here” over the deafening beat of the music.

He shakes his head no, not trusting himself to get anywhere near Sebastian in an environment like this, especially not when Seb looks like _that_ , but Hayley ignores the action and instead starts waving wildly with both arms now, like she’s one of those big inflatable tube guys with the crazy arms.

Caught somewhere in between an embarrassed groan and a laugh, Chris finally relents, taking one last swig of his beer before he stands up and starts the daunting task of maneuvering his way through the crowd.

After bumping a few shoulders and murmuring a few apologies that probably can’t even be heard over the noise of the music, he makes it into the thick of the dance floor, much to Hayley’s obvious delight.

She beams at him, squeezing him once on the arm before leaning in to yell, “Be a dear and keep my partner occupied,” giving him a gentle shove in Seb’s direction.

“What?” Chris shouts back, but his voice gets lost in the hum of the club and Hayley’s already got her back turned to him, busy elbowing her way through the throng of people, a woman on a mission. Chris watches the back of her head bob through the crowd before disappearing completely.

Well then.

In front of him Sebastian is still dancing away. He doesn’t seem concerned by Hayley’s sudden departure so it must be nothing serious, Chris assumes, and that knowledge helps him relax the extra fraction he needs so that when Seb raises both eyebrows at him, a silent query of ‘are we gonna do this?’, Chris takes a deep breath, comes to a decision, and starts moving with him.

Things get intense real quick.

The crowd seems to grow denser by the second and before he knows it Chris has been pushed up close to Seb, enough to feel the heat coming off his body and see the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Through hidden speakers the music changes then, transitioning into something more bass-heavy and rhythmic, trance-like, and under the strobing blacklights Chris catches the white flash of Seb’s teeth when he smiles, casually raising one arm up to rest along the top of Chris’ shoulder, using the contact to draw Chris in even further.

The steady bass pumps through Chris’ bones, his chest, like a second heartbeat. It – and the heat of Seb’s body all flushed and slotted up against his own – is making him feel drunk, bold and daring, despite having only drank a single beer all night.

His hands are itching to go to Seb’s hips so he lets them, feeling the way Seb is rolling them in time with the music, sinuous and suggestive and so fucking lewd, for the sake of Chris’ mental state it should be deemed illegal.

The sudden weight of Chris’ hands landing on him makes Seb’s wandering attention snap straight to Chris, focusing directly on his face, and when they make eye contact, Chris can’t help but breathe out a low, muttered, “Fuck.”

Seb’s eyes are impossibly black, pupils blown wide and rimmed with the barest hint of ice-grey irises, and in that moment, it’s like Chris’ brain becomes an entirely separate unit from his body, making an abrupt departure and leaving the rest of him - hands, hips, mouth, _everything_ \- to do whatever the fuck they want, unsupervised.

It feels like stepping into an alternate dimension, like the real world ceases to exist within the walls of the club. Like Chris can finally be brave, not hold anything back, freed by the knowledge that whatever decisions he makes, they won’t come back around to bite him in the ass.

_It’s a dream_ , he thinks distantly. It must be. How else could Seb be letting Chris touch him like this?

So with those thoughts still playing in his mind, there’s no hesitation at all when he gropes at Seb’s hips now, pulling him closer until they’re meeting in one solid line from chest to pelvis.

Sebastian’s mouth falls open but he doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at Chris with those big, hypnotizing eyes, and when he shifts just a little, Chris can feel the sudden press of his erection in a hard, hot line against his thigh.

“Seb,” Chris murmurs, stunned and dizzy with the knowledge that Sebastian is turned on by this. By dancing. With _Chris_. Jesus fuck, Hayley really needs to come back soon before Chris ends up doing something he will later regret. Mainly, divesting Seb of all his clothing in the middle of the dance floor.

Where the hell did Hayley go, anyway?

But then Seb turns around, dropping his head back into Chris’ shoulder and closing his eyes, and Chris promptly forgets every other thing in the world except the body moving fluidly with his own.

Pressed together like this, with his front to Seb’s back, he can feel Sebastian breathing in his ear; warm, unsteady puffs of air that match the fast, unsteady beat of Chris’ pulse, and god, Chris isn’t strong enough for this. Never has been, never will be. He gives in, tilting his face into the slightly sweaty hair at Seb’s temple, eyes going shut as they continue to move together.

Feverish hands slide up Sebastian’s sides before skimming down the front of his chest, greedy to finally feel all that warm, hard muscle under his palms, and Seb’s breath hitches at the touch, tipping his head to the side even more until his mouth bumps the curve of Chris’ jaw and he lets out a soft noise that’s just barely audible in Chris’ ear.

“Jesus, Seb,” he breathes, one palm spread flat across Seb’s stomach now while the other returns to his hip, squeezing tight out of pure instinct. The alignment is perfect and on the next roll of Seb’s hips, it brings Chris’ dick into contact with the curve of Seb’s ass, tight and intimate and borderline obscene, but oh god it’s good. It’s perfect. It’s enough to force Chris to bite the inside of his cheek until the hot, building pressure in his dick subsides enough that it no longer feels like he’s about to come in his pants.

But Seb - fucking Seb – just follows the pulsing beat of the music and grinds back on him again, and this time Chris can’t hold back a groan, helpless and so fucking beyond ready to get Seb home, strip him naked, put his mouth fucking everywhere and –

A hand on his unoccupied shoulder – one that is definitely not Sebastian’s – jerks Chris back to reality and he drops his grip on Seb like he’s on fire, spinning around to find Hayley looking at him with a cheeky grin.

“Time to go,” she mouths silently, holding up her phone where the screen shows the time as 1:55 a.m. 

God, they’ve really been here for three hours? Chris realizes he spent most of the first one or two tucked away drinking in his booth, but he’s still surprised by how quickly the rest of it’s flown by.

He nods to Hayley before looking back over his shoulder at Seb, who looks beyond fucking sinful with his sweaty hair and red cheeks and shirt riding part way up his stomach where Chris’ hands had been roaming just moments ago. Jesus Christ. 

When they start to weave their way out of the centre of the floor - Hayley holding Chris’ hand as she leads them through the masses - it’s automatic for Chris to reach his free one out for Seb to grab on to. Sebastian takes it without hesitation, their fingers sliding together with unpracticed ease.

Hayley takes them, human chain-style, towards the exit and it’s only after they’ve finally emerged back out on the sidewalk that Chris realizes exactly how breathless and sweaty he is.

“I think I’m gonna bum a smoke off someone,” Seb says while they’re waiting at the curb for Hayley’s airport cab, eyes glancing over to the small group of smokers that’re huddled a little ways down the street from the club doors.

Sebastian doesn’t smoke regularly anymore, Chris knows, but it’s an instinctual social thing. A habit brought out by the return of a certain routine. For Seb, it’s dance, drink, smoke. Chris feels the same nostalgic pull for weed and Sam Adams whenever he spends any extended amount of time with his old group of buddies back in Boston.

“Don’t leave till I say goodbye,” Seb warns Hayley, then he breaks off towards the smoker’s group, probably already sporting one of those friendly, charmingly easy grins that’ll unintentionally have every one of them eating out of the palm of his hand, more than willing to gift him the entire contents of their purses and pockets, never mind a single lighter and cigarette.

As soon as Seb’s out of earshot, Chris draws Hayley in for a goodbye hug, using the opportunity to quiet his voice and speak close to her ear, just in case through some random fluke Seb can still hear them. “You are an architect of evil,” he tells her seriously, giving her a quick squeeze around the waist.

Hayley cackles, which is somehow both charming and frightening. But that’s just Hayley in a nutshell, really. God, Chris can feel himself starting to miss her already. He really needs to make an effort to catch up with her more often.

“Just giving my two favourite boys a little nudge in the proper direction,” she says, patting his back twice before letting go. “You _do_ see the way he looks at you, I hope.”

Chris blinks. He hears the words, but they do not compute. “What?”

“Oh honestly.” Hayley makes a show of good-naturedly rolling her eyes. “If you’re fretting over the possibility of unrequited feelings, you can stop that right now. There’s really no need to look at him as hopelessly as you do.”

Oh Jesus.

Chris flushes hot and cold all at once, something like panic and hope converging in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t even know where to begin dissecting a statement like that. Trust Hayley to show up for six hours and throw everything he thought he knew completely out of line.

Dubious, he leaves that comment untouched and instead replies, “I’m gonna miss you,” which is secretly code for ‘can you please stay and continue to fix my life’. Everything just seems so much easier, so much simpler, when it’s coming through Hayley’s eyes, painting life in swathes of black and white instead of stressful, muddy grey. God, Chris envies her bluntness, her fearlessness. He can only hope a little manages to rub off on him every time they reunite.

Naturally, Hayley seems to understand exactly what he means, smiling softer than usual as she shakes her head. “My work here is done, I’m afraid. Now I must move on to the other poor souls of the world who require my help.”

Chris laughs at the theatrical flourish in her voice, but even he can hear how his tone gets a little strained towards the end. That magical, freeing bubble of being in the club is deflating quick now, and he knows he’s gonna be floundering hard once the reality of the night’s events finally settle over him.

Hayley watches him quietly for a moment, then pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll do just fine on your own,” she declares, sure as always. “Remember what I said, and don’t be stupid.”

“Hey, that’s like asking me not to breathe,” Chris jokes, unable to resist hugging her one more time, but he gratefully pulls in every word of her offered advice, holding it close to his chest like the gift that it is, and if he hugs a little tighter than he should this time, well, god bless Hayley, she doesn’t say a thing.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was definitely not expecting such a big response to the last chapter. Thanks guys!! You are all awesome and your patience will soon be rewarded :)

 

When morning comes, it isn’t kind to Chris.

He wakes up stiff all over, fuzzy-headed and so dry-mouthed it requires a herculean amount of effort just to swallow.

Jesus, from the way his body’s complaining you’d think he drank his body weight in booze then took on three guys in an alleyway when in reality he spent seventy-five percent of the night moping in the corner, nursing a single beer and trying not to stare too obviously at Seb.

Along with a good stretch and a glass of water he kinda needs to pee now too, but instead of getting up Chris rolls onto his stomach and shoves his face into the pillow, trying to convince his body that what it really wants is more sleep.

He’s not very successful.

Five minutes later, he’s forced out of bed for the sake of his bladder, but once he’s all finished up in the bathroom he deviates from his normal path towards the kitchen and returns to the bedroom instead, taking his time picking out a shirt and getting dressed slowly, lingering a little longer than strictly necessary.

It’s not that he’s hiding. There’s nothing _to_ hide from. So Seb grinded up on Chris’ dick and Chris felt up his abs a little in return. It’s fine. They’re adults. It’s not like one night of raunchy dancing is going to drastically alter their friendship.

Buttoning up his jeans, Chris grimaces to himself. Yeah, that all sounds fine and dandy in his head, but actually believing it is a whole other matter - one he’s still trying to get the majority of his conscience on board with.

Hence (not) hiding in the bedroom.

He can’t avoid Seb forever though, and his bedroom is sadly lacking in a few much-needed amenities like coffee and breakfast foods, so once he’s killed all the time he can, Chris bites the bullet and cautiously shuffles his way out into the kitchen.

 Sure enough Seb is already there, eating cereal at the table and reading something on his tablet. Whatever he’s looking at has his complete attention, so absorbed that the next time his spoon makes it into his mouth it stays there a while, hanging forgotten while he knits his eyebrows together and reads.

Jesus, no grown human should be allowed to look that cute. It’s fucking criminal.

His attempt at a stealthy entrance is foiled when the floor decides to creak underfoot on Chris’ next step forward, and Seb automatically looks up at the noise, spoon still dangling from his mouth for a moment before he remembers to remove it. (Chris can’t help but think of how much he wants to be the one to take it out for him, then taste exactly where it’s been.)

When Seb’s eyes snap up to land straight on him it’s like being hit with a blinding spotlight, uncomfortably hot and exposing, pinning him in place with a weird sense of frozen alarm not unlike a deer in headlights.

Chris clears away the sudden tightness in his throat, trying to get a feel for where he and Seb currently stand. The atmosphere of the room is maybe a little awkwardly tense, he thinks. There’s an elephant there for sure - not a large one - but it’s definitely making itself comfortable in the corner, watching and waiting to see if either of them will act on the unspoken question that’s hanging heavy in the space between them. _So we almost fucked on a dance floor last night. You wanna talk about that or...?_

Then again, it could just be Chris projecting because he sure as hell feels all awkward and sweaty and bumbling on the inside right now. Sebastian, on the other hand, appears to be as cucumber-cool as always.

_God_ , Chris thinks helplessly, just looking at Seb’s face is putting him right back into the belly of the club; a heady reminder of the way Seb’s eyes had gleamed in the dark, the feel of his mouth so hot and close to Chris’ ear, the weight of an arm slung careless and easy over Chris’ shoulder, like it belonged there.

“Hey,” Sebastian offers belatedly, lurching Chris back into the present.

Chris rubs a hand over the back of his neck, hoping the heat there hasn’t noticeably spread up into his face. “Hey,” he echoes, feeling like a robot poorly imitating a person as he makes himself walk over to the counter and pull out a clean mug, pouring a cup of coffee with jerky, unsteady movements. Turning away from the weight of Seb’s gaze doesn’t do him any good; he can still feel those eyes burning hot into his back with every passing second. His neck goes from warm to on fire.

He forces his hunched shoulders to relax as he comes around the counter, coffee cup in hand, then grimaces slightly when he has to use the still-sore muscles in his back and thighs to slide into the kitchen chair across from Seb.

Sebastian eyes him for a moment, sounding amused when he finally asks, “How you doing there?”

So he’s definitely noticed the way Chris is hobbling around like an old man. Great. But this is familiar territory at least, bitching about aches and pains. Something they’ve done together a thousand times before both on and off set, so it’s easy for Chris to complain, “Everything hurts,” as he settles back into the chair, taking a giant gulp of his coffee. “Why does everything hurt? I barely even drank last night.”

Seb snorts, pushing his tablet away so he can lean both elbows on top of the table. “Hate to break it to you, buddy,” he says, mouth tugging up in a half-smile, “but that means it’s just age.”

“You’re not that much younger than me,” Chris points out, pausing half way through to hide a jaw-cracking yawn behind one hand, “how are you even functioning right now?”

“Maybe not in age, sure,” Seb agrees with a shrug, staying perfectly straight-faced as he adds, “but I’m younger in spirit.”

Definitely not expecting that, Chris almost chokes on his next sip of coffee. His mug hits the table a little too hard when he plunks it back down, laughing and automatically exclaiming, “What?!”

“It’s true!” Seb insist with a big, stupid smile that’s all teeth and delight. “You know it is! Don’t even try to deny it, pal.”

“Hey now,” Chris starts reasonably, “just because some of us like to go to bed at a decent hour...”

“When I met you you still used a day planner!” Seb interrupts, full-on laughing at him now, totally calling Chris out.

2010 Chris was a total dweeb, yes, but present-day Chris thought they had some kind of cool, unspoken bro-code agreement to never voice the sins of his past.

What a fucking traitor.

“Because I had shit to keep organized!” Chris exclaims, defending himself, getting all amped up now and almost knocking his mug over when he gets articulating a bit too wildly with his hands.

Seb opens his mouth to respond but then they catch eyes, stare at each other for two seconds, and completely lose it, devolving into the kind of laughter that leaves you teary-eyed and struggling for air.

Fuck, Chris thinks as he tries to catch his breath, it feels good to laugh like that. With Seb, especially.

Once some of their mutual giddiness has died back down, Sebastian smiles over at him, one of those slow, crinkly-eyed ones of genuine happiness, and just like that, any weird leftover tension that might still be lurking in the space between them instantly evaporates.

Chris breathes an internal sigh of relief, smiling back.

It’s okay.

They’re okay.

 

* * *

 

 

Thursday night has officially been deemed pizza night. Tonight’s order comes from a weird, hipster-esque establishment that Chris won’t stop giving Seb shit for regularly frequenting. Few things in life are sacred, Chris believes, but classic pepperoni is definitely one of them.

“Potatoes on pizza? Seb,” he says, expression serious as he squints down at the slice on his plate, “that’s blasphemy.”

“It’s good!” Sebastian insists, leaning half way off the couch as he snags a piece for himself from the box laid out on the coffee table. “There’s goat cheese and arugula in there too.”

“ _Goat_ \-- how can you even call this pizza?! It’s an insult.” Chris looks down at his slice and then back up at Seb. “I’m insulted.”

Clearly more interested in the prospect of getting food in his mouth than suffering through Chris’ melodramatic pizza rant, Sebastian snorts, raising his slice for a bite. “Kitchen’s that way if you’re so morally offended,” he says, tilting his head in the proper direction since he’s currently got both hands full. “There might be Lucky Charms left.”

Chris reconsiders his plate for a moment before admitting, “Maybe not _that_ offended.” The potato doesn’t look half bad, actually. It’s been sliced into paper-thin rounds, all golden and crispy looking. Definitely worth investigating.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Seb says, tone smug when Chris proceeds to eat the entirety of the slice in under five bites, then reaches back into the box for another.

“I’d tell you to fuck off,” Chris tells him sincerely, “but I’m too busy expanding my culinary horizons.”

And fuck, it feels like striking the jackpot when Seb laughs at that, loud and so thoroughly entertained, he almost loses the slice off his plate with the way his shoulders are shaking. “You’re welcome, asshole,” he gets out, still chuckling a little, before he promptly sticks about a third of his own pizza slice into his mouth. It’s way too ambitious of a bite - sauce automatically starts oozing out of the edges, getting all over Seb’s mouth, and Chris can’t help but smile at the sight.

“Real attractive.” He laughs as Seb tries to wipe the stray pizza sauce off his chin using one of the cheap, pitifully tiny napkins that’d been provided with their order.

“I know.” When Sebastian grins, it’s wide and relaxed and teasing. Dazzling with its sunshine-y brightness. “Try not to fall in love with me.”

_Too late_ , Chris thinks.

Through some weird, subconscious force his heart’s started thumping harder at the sound of the L word leaving Sebastian’s mouth and Chris hides his reaction behind another bite of pizza, hoping the crazy tempo isn’t as loud to Seb as it is pounding in his own ears.

“So,” he says, only sounding half-strangled, thank god, “what’s the movie plan tonight?” He’s not above a little good ol’ fashioned deflection right now and besides, it technically _is_ Sebastian’s turn to pick. Chris made him sit through Happy Gilmore last week, so he has a feeling Seb’s got some form of revenge in the works.

Sebastian takes the bait, smiling an _oh just you wait_ kind of smile that should have Chris dreading what’s to come, but instead he just grins back, stupid and totally smitten.

As it turns out, Seb’s chosen Moonstruck in retaliation, but the joke’s on him cause Chris enjoys the hell out of it.

As the night wears on, one movie melts into two and then they’re marathoning until the room’s gone completely dark, save for the muted flicker of city lights blinking in through still-opened curtains.

Slumped side by side on the couch, shoulders brushing, it becomes incredibly obvious when Seb starts shifting restlessly part way through The Accountant.

Chris raises his eyebrows silently, and the action alone is enough of a question to have Seb admitting, in a voice that definitely sounds reluctant, “My back. It’s...I think I pulled something the other day. At the gym.” His mouth’s drawn a bit tighter than normal, a subtle but telltale sign of discomfort that makes Chris’ heart pang with sympathy.

Shit, Chris wants to hug him so bad right now, it’s a very real possibility that his arms might actually detach from his body and take on a life of their own, and he shouldn’t do it, he really shouldn’t do it, but, “Jesus, here, stretch your legs out,” Chris babbles, hands hovering over Sebastian as he fights the urge to reach out and physically arrange him into a better position on the couch. “You know you can tell me to move. I’ll sit on the floor or something if you need more room.”

“No, no,” Sebastian insists, swinging his legs up onto the cushions, preparing to lie down flat. “Can I just...um, maybe...put my head on your lap?”

Dear God. It feels like the sole purpose of Chris’ entire life has been leading up to this very moment, hearing those words leave Sebastian’s mouth. He can die gloriously happy and entirely fulfilled now.

“Yeah, sure,” he forces out casually, already reaching for a throw pillow to settle over the upper half of his thighs because the full extent of that glorious happiness is going to be _way_ too evident if Seb lays down on him without it.

Sebastian takes the opportunity to stretch out length-wise across the couch, hesitating for only a flicker of a second before tentatively resting his head on the pillow, and when he lets himself relax, the full weight of his head and neck easing into a warm pressure in Chris’ lap, Chris has to remind his lungs that they’ve got a kind of important job to do.

“Is this okay?” Seb asks. He doesn’t look at Chris when he says it; either the angle’s too sharp for his neck or he’s too self-conscious to attempt eye contact right now, Chris isn’t sure which.

“Yeah,” he answers a bit roughly, meaning it more than Seb could possibly know. “It is.”

 

* * *

 

 

He must fall asleep at some point because when Chris wakes up, he’s leaning so far over he’s almost horizontal. Seb is smushed up against his side, cheek on Chris’ shoulder and nose brushing his neck. The minute Chris opens his mouth he’s gonna have a giant tuft of Seb’s crazy sleep-fucked hair in it. It’s not so bad of a thought, really.

Even though he’s trying not to move around too much, his wake-up still seems to trigger Seb’s own. From his spot half on top of Chris, Sebastian squirms around a little, yawning before groggily lifting his head to squint up at Chris’s face through eyes that’re still mostly closed.

Fuck. Chris’ heart squeezes hard. He could wake up to this every morning, crick in his neck be damned.

“Hey,” he greets quietly, probably smiling like a completely smitten idiot. It’s not far from the truth, really.

Clearly not awake yet, Sebastian makes a tired, vaguely grumpy noise before tucking his face back into Chris’ neck, and within minutes he’s back to breathing in deep, even breaths, already fast asleep. Like he doesn’t care that he’s still sprawled mostly atop Chris. Like it’s not jarring or unnatural to wake up to the sight of Chris’ face. Like...like maybe he feels safe enough to trust Chris when he’s at his most vulnerable, tired and comfortable, in a moment like this.

Chris swallows around the sudden obstruction in his throat and tentatively raises one hand, bringing it softly to the back of Seb’s head.

Jesus, the things he feels for this guy. There’s no denying it, no downplaying it any longer; he’s reached the point of no return. Chris is so fucking in love, and he doesn’t have a single goddamn clue what he’s going to do about it.

Carefully brushing his fingers through dark, fluffy-soft hair, he closes his eyes and tries to calm the sudden too-quick beat of his heart.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, to Seb, to whatever this thing is that’s building so shy and warm and gradual between them. “Okay.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

A week before the end of rehearsals, Sebastian says, “I have to leave. Reshoots. They need me in Atlanta by Monday.”

He’s sprawled on the couch again with his head back on Chris’ lap; that first night of falling asleep together tearing down some sort of invisible, previously off-limits barrier between them and now they’re always touching each other easily, frequently, and in increasingly intimate ways.

Chris loves it. He hates it. It’s torture and comfort tangled together inextricably in a way he didn’t think was actually possible to feel, and yet here he is.

At the news, he automatically frowns. “For how long, did they say?”

“Two weeks,” Seb replies, shifting to lay more on his back than his side, so he can look up at Chris. “But hopefully less.”

Oh.

Chris’ stomach sinks and he tries not to sound like too much of a sadly forlorn kid - minus the swearing - when he says, “Fuck, you’re gonna miss opening night.”

The minute the words leave his mouth he realizes exactly how selfish they sound. Of course Seb has his own obligations, his own career to look out for. Chris can’t expect the guy to just drop everything for Chris’ own sake. Sebastian’s world does not revolve around him, even if it feels like everything that’s important in Chris’ is currently situated right in his lap.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, feeling like an idiot. “I mean, you’re not – you don’t have to be there. I wasn’t expecting-”

“Hey, no,” Seb interrupts, pushing himself upright until he’s settled on the cushion next to Chris, running one hand through his pillow-ruffled hair and trying to smooth it all back down. “I want to, it’s just...” he shrugs one shoulder, attempting a smile but his mouth doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, staying flat and disappointed-looking. “Shitty timing.”

When Chris tries to smile back, his feels just as stiff and unsuccessful.

“Shitty timing,” he agrees.

Jesus, this is going to make it so much harder, Chris knows. Stepping out onto that stage under the bright-hot lights and in front of a sold out audience had felt a lot more manageable when he thought he’d be able to look out and see Seb’s familiar face cheering him on. Now he knows he’ll be going it alone, flying solo with no one in his corner. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

“It’s going to be weird,” Sebastian says after a moment, sounding thoughtful. “Being apart again. I think I might actually miss you a little.” There’s a faint trace of levity in his voice, like he can’t quite decide if he wants the comment to be taken seriously or not so he’s leaving it for Chris to interpret whichever way he likes.

Chris could very easily laugh it off, throw back a few teasing jabs of his own, but instead he hesitates. After everything they’ve been through in these last five weeks, after how much they’ve bonded and integrated so deeply into each other’s lives, he’s feeling too grateful, too tender-hearted, to brush it all off with a joke.

So he plays the honesty card, knocking his shoulder into Seb’s, smiling soft as he says, “I think I might miss you too.”

If there was a right answer to Seb’s comment, Chris definitely got it.

Sebastian practically lights up, smiling all slow and pleased, biting his lower lip when the stretch of his mouth threatens to get too big. Chris has never wanted to kiss him more.

They stare at each other for a moment before Chris says, to lighten the mood before he ends up literally jumping on Seb right here and now, “So I’m gonna have this whole place to myself, huh?”

Sebastian’s smile unfurls into a wide, genuine grin at that. “Already making plans?” he asks, eyebrows arching up with curious amusement. 

With a nonchalant shrug, Chris replies, “Might throw a party or two, order some Pay Per View, who knows.”

Not buying any of that, Sebastian snorts, leaning back against the cushions and propping his feet up onto the coffee table, ankles crossed. “Fifty bucks says the first night I check in on you, you’re half asleep watching Animal Planet.”

Ignoring the way his heart does a happy little jump at the fact that Sebastian’s already planning on them having nightly check-ins with each other, Chris puts a hand to his chest, mock offended. “Hey, I can be a wild guy,” he insists. “In fact, I think I’m gonna order artisanal hipster pizza every night,” he decides. “Extra potato.”

Cracking up, Seb gives him a shove on the shoulder. “I changed my mind, I’m not gonna miss you one bit.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not a big apartment - in fact, it’s bordering on snug for the two of them - but it still feels too large, too empty, with Sebastian gone.

Seb leaves at the crack of dawn on Monday morning as promised, and Chris spends the rest of the week alternating between sweating bullets over opening night, which is rushing closer and closer at a kind of alarming rate, and wandering through the apartment like a lost puppy, missing the hell out of him.

They both make an effort to try and talk daily, but even with being in the same time zone sometimes their schedules just don’t want to align. On those days they settle for a few quick back and forth texts or snapchat photos whenever time allows. Chris cherishes every little exchange, and has developed an almost Pavlovian response to the sound of his ringtone going off. Never in his life has he felt so dependent on his phone until it became his only connection to Seb.

When Friday finally rolls around, Chris wakes up with an uneasy bundle of nerves already weighing down the pit of his stomach. Today’s the day. He’ll either knock it out of the park, or have yet another bad acting decision to cringe at five years down the road.

He doesn’t have to be at the theatre until two - all that’s really left to tackle before tonight are some last-minute stage notes and run-throughs - so after breakfast Chris throws on a pair of track pants, grabs up his keys and heads out for a run, hoping the fresh air and exercise will help get him out of his head for a while.

As far as escapes go, it’s not a bad one. The sun is warm on his face and after a mile he’s started to sweat. After two he’s feeling the exertion in his legs. At three, he has to focus so much on his breathing, there’s no room left for anything else in his head.

It’s good. He’s good.

Sweating buckets and working with two limp noodles for legs, he finally trucks back up the front steps of Seb’s place an hour later, peeling off damp clothes the minute he’s behind closed doors and going straight for the shower.

That helps too, the feeling of hot water beating the tension out of his shoulders. Being able to focus on the simple task of scrubbing himself clean.

Afterwards, Chris slips on a pair of sweats and wanders into the kitchen, towel-drying his hair with one hand as he stands at the counter and checks the missed messages on his phone. A bunch of scheduling stuff from his agent, some weird meme thing from his brother that he doesn’t understand, and one missed text from Seb, time stamped from about a half an hour ago:

                                _Breathe. You’re gonna do great._

It’s five simple little words, words that would probably be ineffective and borderline cheesy had they been coming from anyone else, but as soon as Chris opens the message, just like that, something eases in his chest and he’s smiling without even realizing it. 

God, he could run himself ragged, try to empty his head with hundreds of mind-numbing miles and showers, and he still wouldn’t feel as centered, as _right_ , as he feels right now, after seeing those words.

_Trying to remember that. Thank you,_ he types out in response, and then, before he can tell himself it’s a terrible idea, he adds a single heart emoji and quickly hits send.

 

* * *

 

 

Eight o’clock comes all too quickly.

Chris is excited, but he also might throw up a little.

Standing behind the curtain at the far right of the stage, he shakes the tension out of his arms, takes a big, controlled breath in and out, then walks out into the spotlight when he hears his cue.

There’s about four seconds of nervousness that skitters across his consciousness, faintly abrasive like dust blowing up at you from the street, but then he’s falling into the routine of the script and everything becomes easy. Effortless. He knows this. Knows his character, knows his lines and his actions, knows every emotion and what makes him tick.

He’s got this.  

Thank fuck.

It all feels like some crazy blur afterwards, jogging back onto the stage for the curtain call, shaking hands and slapping backs with fellow cast mates and crew.

Exhausted and giddy all at once, Chris stumbles his way backstage, grinning like a loon.

“Evans,” one of the stage hands – Matt – beckons him over with a wave. “There’s someone here for you, in the back.”

It’s not enough to really dampen his good mood, but still Chris feels the wattage of his grin dim just a little as he tips his face up to the ceiling and tries not to groan. Great. God love his mom but if she sent a fucking congratulatory flower delivery to the theatre, he’s gonna have words with her. Specifically of the ‘please don’t embarrass me in front of my friends’ variety.

Weaving around a few other loitering crew guys, Chris makes his way to the big shared dressing room at the back end of the building. Fuck, hopefully he’s still got a couple of bills left in his wallet to tip the delivery guy.

Pushing open the door, he looks up and comes to a dead stop, mouth dropping half way open in surprise because it can’t be, there’s no fucking way, but somehow there’s Sebastian, standing in the middle of the dressing room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants and a big, wide smile spread across his face.

Fuck, Chris must be delirious, experiencing some kind of post-show endorphin-induced fever dream.  

Seb looks amazing, effortless and handsome and way too fucking cool for a dumb meatball like Chris, wearing a black dress shirt with no tie, hair all fashionably disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it compulsively. He probably has been; it’s a nervous tic of his, Chris knows, and it definitely would have required a whole lot of balls for Seb to get himself here tonight, forcing him to do something he normally doesn’t like to do – ask for favours, create work, be a bother.

“You came,” Chris says stupidly, totally stunned.

Sebastian’s smile grows a little embarrassed around the edges. “Yeah. I pulled some strings and managed to sneak away for a while. I actually have to catch another plane in...” he looks down at his watch and makes a ‘whoops’ kind of face, “oh shit, two hours.”

“You’re here.” Chris says again, because he still can’t believe it. Jesus Christ. Seb skipped out on set, flew all the way back to New York, and sweet-talked his way into a sold out show. _For_ _Chris_. He’s just...he’s floored. He’s floored and humbled and probably gaping at Seb with literal hearts in his eyes but Chris doesn’t even give a damn because he’s beyond caring now, it doesn’t matter who sees it, he’s head over fucking heels and seeing Seb like this, finally face to face with him again after five long, empty days, Chris can’t think of a single reason why he should try to hide it.

God, this guy. This thoughtful, crazy, wonderful guy.

“Of course I am,” Sebastian replies, like that’s the only logical answer. “I couldn’t not be here. Chris-”

But before he can say anything else, Chris is already moving, operating on pure, heart-pounding instinct, and in two long strides he’s got one hand curving over Seb’s hip and the other pressed warm to the side of Seb’s jaw as he surges forward, cutting him off with a kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY


	8. Chapter 8

 

It’s not an explosion of fireworks. There’s no jolt of hair-raising electricity, no sudden realignment of the earth beneath his feet. Instead it’s like...unwinding. The release of a long, much needed sigh. A gradual ease of long-tense muscles. Like comfort. Like being home.

Chris kisses Sebastian slowly, wholeheartedly, the way he should have two months ago when he first walked though Seb’s front door and it’s insane, it’s fucking _insane_ , because he’s imagined this moment a hundred times before, wondered what would happen if he finally gave in to the craving that’s been eating away at him for weeks now, and here he is. It’s _real_.

Sebastian makes a noise into the kiss - a soft, broken little moan that goes straight to Chris’ dick - hands flying up to grip the sleeves of Chris’ shirt, and then he’s kissing back, mouth so warm and responsive, the feeling of it matching Chris’ own move for move almost brings Chris to his knees.

It stays relatively chaste for all of about five seconds before Sebastian’s tongue is swiping wet across Chris’ lower lip, shy and questioning, and Chris welcomes it with a low groan of approval when he starts licking straight into Chris’ mouth with that hot, talented tongue.

And god, it feels like someone’s pumping fire straight into Chris’ veins, leaving him ready to boil over at a second’s notice because the intensity just keeps escalating and now they’re kissing so deep and frantic, it feels like something out of a movie; full of too much raw, undiluted feeling to actually be real.

 When they finally break apart it’s with an audible wet sound, foreheads pressed together and shakily trying to catch their breaths.  Sebastian’s hands have dropped down to Chris’ sides, fingertips digging in tight below his ribcage, like he’s just as reluctant as Chris to let go.

“Shit, I really need to leave,” Seb speaks against his lips, eyes half-lidded as he stares right at Chris, looking hazy and half-drunk and so fucking perfect, jesus, how the hell is Chris supposed to let him walk away now?

“Let me take you back to the airport,” he says, pleading, not strong enough to stop touching Sebastian now that he’s started so Chris drops more kisses across his cheekbone, jaw, the corner of his mouth.

Seb tilts his head enough to catch Chris’ wandering lips, breathing a laugh against his open mouth that has Chris’ heart performing somersaults at the sound. Weightless. Thrilled.  “You don’t have a car,” he murmurs.

“Then I’ll cab it with you,” Chris instantly replies, no hesitation.

Sebastian shakes his head, grinning faintly at the amount of conviction in Chris’ tone. “You’re gonna ride out to the airport with me just to turn around and come all the way back?”

“Yes,” Chris answers stubbornly. Now that he’s got his hands on Seb, he doesn’t want to let go. If a cab ride buys him an extra twenty minutes of warm kisses and slow, exploratory touches, then he’ll damn well take it.

“Chris,” Seb says softly, almost apologetically, already slipping out of Chris’ grip, taking a step back and distancing himself, “it’s a big night. Go celebrate with your friends.”

The spell breaks as soon as Seb’s out of reach, reality swiftly crashing back down over Chris’ head like he’s just been doused with a bucket of cold water. He rubs his palms on his pants and then shoves both hands in his pockets, feeling too hot and big and awkward in his own skin, unsure of what to do. He knows Seb probably doesn’t mean it that way, but it still kind of feels like a rejection.

“Yeah,” Chris says, forcing the words out with an enthusiasm he doesn’t feel, “I guess I should – they’re probably waiting on me...” He tugs one hand free and awkwardly gestures back to the door, finding it difficult to look Seb in the eye now.

Fuck. Of course somehow, already, he’s inevitably managed to fuck this up. God, what a giant fucking mistake. He never should have made assumptions, never should have thrown himself at Seb like that, never should have –

“Hey,” Sebastian interrupts Chris’ increasingly distressful thought-spiral, sounding concerned, and Chris wonders what his face must look like right now for Seb to be using that tone. “I’m not – it’s okay, alright? Just...come back over here.”

Chris doesn’t move, still a little frozen with internal panic, so Sebastian comes to him instead, tugging him into a tight, solid hug. Chris at least manages to regain enough use of his limbs by then to get both arms raised and hug him back, however stiff and mechanical it might be. He presses his face into the top of Seb’s shoulder, trying to breathe as something like embarrassment and fear and longing all roll together in the pit of his stomach.

“I’d stay if I could,” Seb murmurs in his ear, voice warm and reassuring. “You know that, right?”

Chris nods, then makes himself say, "Yeah," when he realizes Seb probably can't see the action with the way he's still got his face tucked up against Seb's shoulder. Sebastian's shirt smells nice and his neck is really, really close to Chris' mouth. It's making it kind of hard to concentrate. "Sorry. God, I'm a mess. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Half of it's probably an adrenaline crash, the logical side of his brain points out. He’s just jumped straight off stage with zero time to cool off and process everything he’s just accomplished. There’s already a whole host of emotions bubbling too close to the surface of his skin from that alone, and then add the surprise of Seb top of it all...

Jesus, when he thinks about it like that, it’s a wonder he isn’t ugly crying on the floor right now.

"Hey, don't apologize," Sebastian tells him. He seems to understand exactly what Chris is going through, voice soft and eyes even softer as he rubs Chris’ back with one palm, way too fucking nice for Chris' sorry ass. “It’s been a crazy night. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead or anything-”

“No, jesus, it - it means a lot that you came.” Chris pulls his head back enough for Seb to see him smile, maybe a little strained at the corners but still every bit sincere. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, neither are you. Got it?”

“Got it,” Seb chuckles, and then something changes in his expression, eyes a shade darker and voice gone all low and rumbling when he adds, “You were amazing tonight. Really.”

Chris flushes what feels like twenty shades of red. “Ahh,” he laughs, embarrassed and awkward but also kind of loving it, “I tried. I mean, that’s all you can do, really. Try.” Oh god, he sounds like a bad motivational poster right now.

Sebastian doesn’t seem to care, or maybe he’s weirdly charmed by Chris’ fumbling because he smiles slow and wide, bringing his mouth back close to Chris’ ear to say, “Yeah, well, I’m proud of you.”

_I love you so fucking much_ , Chris wants to say in return, but he’s still tongue-tied and entirely flustered now. When he opens his mouth, not even any embarrassing rambling wants to come out, so instead he tightens his arms around Seb and hopes it’s enough to convey everything he can’t seem to say.

They stay like that for god only knows how long, all wrapped up and breathing in sync with each other, until Seb finally untangles their arms and admits, “Okay, now I really, really need to go - god, shit, I’m gonna be so late.”

Chris manages to un-stick the giant lump in his throat enough to say, “Oh yeah, jeez, get out of here.”

Having Seb pull back from him again feels like having an internal organ ripped out; Chris’ body just doesn’t know how to operate without it, without _him,_ so he stands there blinking like an idiot, trying to keep his heart from physically crumbling when Sebastian steps around him and heads for the door.

But when he gets across the room Sebastian pauses, turning back to look at Chris as one hand goes up to drag through his hair - that nervous tic again – and something about the action, realizing that maybe Seb’s just as out of his depth here as Chris is, feels like a huge fucking relief.

“I’ll see you when I get back?” Sebastian says, voice lilting up at the end, making it sound like a question. Between the look on his face and the clothes on his back, he looks like some sort of cross between Bambi and James Dean.

Chris grins, totally endeared. “Absolutely.”

Smiling back, Seb’s eyes stay on him for a long, long time, gaze more obvious and appraising than it’s ever been before. “Okay. Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

He has a lot of time to think about things while Seb’s away.

After that kiss – which Chris' brain has taken to mentally replaying with tremendous detail and embarrassing frequency – it’s clear he’s reached a tipping point; the road ahead branching out into two distinctly different paths. He’s got a decision to make and he knows it, so now the big question is: when Sebastian gets back from Atlanta, is Chris going to stick to the path he knows? Could he be content to repeat the morning-after awkwardness of their club outing, turning a blind eye to everything that happened in that dressing room?

Last time was hard enough; Chris honestly doesn’t know if he can sweep everything under the rug a second time around.

So if he doesn’t run from it, doesn’t hide or fake ignorance any more, then Chris has to ask himself, will he actually be ready to take the leap? His automatic instinct is to say yes - he already knows he’s stupidly in love with Seb - but is that enough?

As much as the diehard romantic in him wants to believe that it is - love conquers all, and all that shit - this isn’t a movie script. Real life is messier, more complicated. Especially when you’re of the high-profile acting type. It’s not so easy to slide something as big as a relationship with a co-star in under the radar. Not impossible, of course, but definitely not easy either. It’d take work. Sacrifice. Patience. But Chris would gladly take on all of it in a heartbeat just to be with Seb.

God, he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of Sebastian laughing against his mouth, the way Seb’s hands had closed over Chris’ biceps, pulling him closer. Just the memory alone makes his pulse jump and his skin flush hot. He’s never felt that exhilarated before in his life - and it had been exhilarating, yes - but it had also felt entirely natural. Comfortable, good, and safe.

Fuck, does he ever want to kiss Seb again. Every day. Multiple times. Always.

So yeah, Chris wants it. He’s willing to take on the risks, deal with the downsides and pour everything he’s got into making Seb happy, but is it fair to put that much pressure on Seb, expecting him to do the same in return?

Chris thinks about it on his commute home that night, gears turning in his head before he realizes it’s also not fair to make assumptions on Seb's behalf either. He shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions without actually knowing how Seb feels about the whole thing. Maybe he’d run for the hills. Maybe (and this one’s a big maybe, the kind that seems too good to ever actually consider as a legitimate possibility) he’d be all in, no hesitations, just like Chris. Chris has no fucking idea, really, which means they’re just gonna have to talk about it. Face to face. Like adults.

Fuck, Chris is practically sweating already.

He hates awkward confrontation of any kind but especially when it involves going deep, dragging up the naked honesty that lives way down in the core of who he is, pulling his own heart out of his chest and laying it flat on the table for everyone to see, revealing everything he wants and craves. It’s exposing. Scary. Because if Sebastian doesn’t want this – doesn’t want _him_ \- then he’s not sure how he’s going to fit all those tiny, fractured pieces back inside the spot his heart’s supposed to be.

But he’s gotta try, right? Fuck, the way Seb had kissed him back...Chris would be a fool not to see this through, not to hold out a hand and see if Seb is willing to take it. So yeah, it’s going to be really fucking nerve-wracking, but it’s _Sebastian_ , and everything Chris does is always worth it for him.

There's no doubt about it, he’d be regretting it forever if he passed on this chance, if he never at least tried to see what the idea of more would look like for him and Seb, so he’ll do it, Chris decides. The minute he sees Seb again, he’s going to scrape up all his courage, make the leap, and jump in with both feet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is The Big One (currently 5200 words and I haven't even hit the really smutty stuff yet), so there will probably be a 2 or 3 week gap before I'm able to get it posted. But it's shaping up to be like 75% smut, so there's that to look forward to :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who wrote like a maniac and actually managed to finish this chapter on time?!  
> The rating has now been upped to E so all that slow burn is about to be resolved for good. Enjoy! :D

 

If Chris thought his first week of going it alone had been rough, it’s nothing compared to trying to survive week two, especially in the aftermath Seb’s surprise theatre visit.

They still talk and text daily, but now there’s a hesitant undercurrent to their exchanges. A shy sort of awkwardness. Things left unsaid. 

It’s not intentional ignorance this time, not like after the club, but instead it’s a conscious decision on both their parts. They need to talk about things and they know it – those eager, shared kisses; what the act of Sebastian showing up means for them now – but it’s too much, too big and important of a topic to try and tackle over a single long-distant phone call.

So they wait.

Luckily the majority of Chris’ evenings are occupied by stage lights and audiences, and by the time he makes it back to the apartment each night - around midnight if he’s lucky – he’s usually too tired to do much else than grab a quick shower and hit the hay. Some nights it feels like he’s asleep before his head even makes contact with the pillow.

So things aren’t too bad in that respect; he’s generally too wrung out and brain-dead to spend any time feeling lonely and/or sorry for himself once he crawls between the bed sheets. Where things _are_ bad, he finds, are in the mornings.

Even though he already has one quiet, lonesome week under his belt, more often than not Chris still wakes up expecting Seb to already be out in the kitchen, seated in his usual spot at the table and equipped with his morning coffee and tablet. So it’s almost like feeling a ghost in the room when Chris pads out in his pyjamas each day to start up the coffee maker. Like the memory of Seb is superimposed over everything around him, there but not, leaving a strange, almost tangible sense of emptiness in the air. And it’s _that_ – that moment when Chris’ brain finally catches up with his hopeful, searching eyes, when he remembers that Seb hasn’t just stepped out to grab milk or pick up the mail, when he finally clues in that Seb _isn’t here_ and Chris’ cheery morning mood instantly plummets like a bad amusement park ride – that’s the hard part.

It gets harder and harder to push down that wave of disappointment each morning but Chris gives it his best shot, shoving it aside and living by the mantra of distract, distract, distract. He cleans the kitchen till it’s spotless. Runs with a single-minded determinedness that his trainer would be proud of. Calls his mom way more often than a well-adjusted thirty-six year old probably should. Spends too much time on the internet and briefly considers taking up macramé, until the logical side of his brain finally pipes up to remind him, _it’s three fucking days, put your credit card away you do not need $400 worth of alpaca yarn Chris, Jesus Christ_.

He bookmarks the macramé website anyway. Just for future reference.

But god, don’t those last three days just take their sweet-ass time crawling by. It’s almost enough to have Chris succumbing to macramé temptation. At least that would give him something concrete to focus on instead of driving himself half-crazy over the thought of what he’s going to say - what he’s doing to _do_ \- once Sebastian walks through that door.

He’s played out so many fictional scenarios in his head, envisioned an entire book’s worth of varying dialogues and declarations of feelings, but the truth of it is, there’s no predicting what’s gonna come out of his mouth once he’s face to face with Seb again. Odds are it won’t be even half as articulate as what he’s trying to mentally rehearse - that part’s pretty much a given. Sebastian’s face does tend to do that to him; makes his tongue go all thick and clumsy and more incoherent than ever.

He’s about one anxiety-induced brain spiral away from throwing his hands up, saying ‘fuck it all’ and writing Seb a goddamn letter like they’re courting in the eighteen hundreds, but even that idea isn’t on his side. Unless Chris plans on quickly scribbling an entire poetic ode onto the back of the wrinkled old Target receipt in his wallet, he’s out of time. Because for as slow as the days themselves have felt, somehow the tail end of the week still manages to sneak up on him. It’s like he blinks and before he knows it it’s Saturday, Seb is due back _tonight_ , and holy shit, is Chris ever unprepared.

He’s still got a show to put on though, so Chris dutifully heads out to the theatre on schedule and tries to keep his head in the game even though his thoughts are like a herd of excited puppies, bumbling all over the place and impossible to corral. Every time he happens to catch a glimpse at the time he can’t help but wonder exactly what Seb’s doing at that moment (did his flight get in on time, is he finding a cab okay, has he made it back at the apartment yet?) and if Chris is a little more antsy and jazzed-up than usual during the night’s performance, well, a little extra gusto is never a bad thing on stage.

That antsy feeling is still alive and well by the time the show’s over –if anything it’s probably gaining momentum, even – so when Chris gathers up his shit from the dressing room, slings his bag over his shoulder and heads out for the night, he’s about ready to vibrate out of his skin with a combination of anticipation that’s both nervous and excited.

The commute back to Seb’s place is a slow exercise in torture.

His palms are sweaty. He can’t stop jiggling his knee. He adjusts the brim of his ballcap at least a dozen times before realizing he’s doing it and forcing his jittery hands to stop.

Traffic’s a little worse with it being the height of the weekend and all, so it’s past twelve-thirty before Chris finally makes it over the threshold into Seb’s apartment.

He knows that flying drains Sebastian like nothing else, so Chris is expecting the place to be quiet and dark. He’s expecting Seb to already be in bed. He’s expecting to have to silently tip-toe his way through the shadows towards his own bedroom.

So he’s really not expecting it when he unlocks the door and finds all the living room lights turned on, and he’s definitely not expecting Sebastian to be seated on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and head slightly tilted like he’s been drifting off to sleep while still sitting up, stubbornly attempting to stay alert.

At the noise of Chris’ entry he comes a little more awake, sitting up straighter, blinking with wide and owlish pale grey eyes, gaze fixing on Chris, and for a minute it’s like they’re both surprised by the other’s sudden appearance. Startled. Unprepared.

Chris freezes.

Seb freezes.

And then, for all his planning, all the plotting, preparing and rehearsing he’s done leading up to this exact moment, Chris, in a moment of pure, inspired eloquence, opens his mouth and clumsily blurts out, “Jesus fuck I missed you.”

Those words break the dam between them and all at once Chris’ bag hits the floor and Seb’s stumbling up off the couch and then they’re reaching for each other, kissing fiercely.

It’s like his body both calms and comes alive at the feeling of Seb’s mouth against his, tension seeping out only to be replaced by an elated, weightless sort of excitement. Thrill. Delight. Like holding hands with your crush for the very first time. God, he’s a grown-ass man and Seb makes him feel like he’s a kid in love on the playground again.

He sinks hands into Sebastian’s hair, coaxing his mouth open until they’re kissing deep and hungry, so eager that when Chris tilts his head, wanting to change angles, they end up bumping noses and clacking teeth when they both try to pull each other back in at the same time.

Chris can’t not smile at that, and soon, instead of actually kissing they’re just grinning big and stupid against each other’s mouths.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Seb murmurs, voice husky and eyes huge and bright up close like this. “When the play’s over. Don’t move out. Stay with me.”

All the air whooshes out of Chris’ lungs and when he blinks, emotion makes his eyes prick hot. “Oh thank fuck, Seb –”

There’s a hell of a lot more he wants to say, a whole monologue he’s been mentally composing for weeks now, but all that flies out the window when Sebastian kisses him again, long and thorough, taking the opportunity to slot his body up close to Chris’ until their hips are flush and Chris can feel the rise and fall of Seb’s chest against his own.

“Dammit,” he pants out once Seb finally lets him up for air, “I had a whole thing planned.”

Sebastian laughs at that and the sound lights up Chris’ insides like a Christmas tree on steroids. “What,” he asks, teasing, looping his arms around Chris’ neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world, something they’ve done a thousand times before, “some grand romantic declaration of feelings?”

“The grandest,” Chris confirms, drawing his eyebrows together and making his face all serious before he swallows the resulting wave of laughter right out of Seb’s mouth. It’s addictive, being able to do that. Kissing Seb whenever the impulse strikes. Chris could get used to it very, very easily.

Sebastian tastes like perfection – well, at the moment he tastes like gum trying its best to mask old coffee, actually - but it’s as close to perfection as Chris has ever tasted. Seb’s hands slide up underneath Chris’ shirt, palms pressing into the small of his back, encouraging their hips to push up tighter, like he can’t quite get their bodies close enough to satisfy. It’s a sentiment Chris entirely echoes.

“Tell me no, tell me if you don’t want this,” Chris says, almost begs, breathless against Seb’s lips. Because he wants it, wants _Seb_ , so fucking much, if Sebastian doesn’t stop Chris now, if he goes on to regret this later, god, it’ll gut Chris alive.

“No, no, I want it,” Seb promises between more hard, frantic kisses, fingertips digging into Chris’ back now, making him groan, “please, yes.”

Getting to the bedroom is a journey. Only a few stumbling steps in, Chris has to stop to crowd Seb up against the closest living room wall and kiss him senseless. Seb then returns the favour in the hallway, pinning Chris to the wall just outside the bathroom door and employing so much tongue, it’s like he’s trying to conduct a tonsil exam. Not that Chris minds _at all_. Kind of the opposite, really. In fact, it’s so filthy-hot, for a minute he legitimately worries about coming in his pants before he’s even had a chance to see a single inch of Seb naked.

So by the time they actually make it into Seb’s bedroom, Chris can’t even pause to appreciate the view, can’t stop to study the colours and bookshelves and knick-knacks that make up Seb’s private space. At the moment, he’s more concerned with studying every colour and contour and taste of the room’s owner instead.

Sebastian’s back hits the mattress and fuck, he’s like a living dream, looking up at Chris with kiss-abused lips and fire sparking in his eyes. Chris’ heart automatically skips a few beats and he’s already breathing hard just from the sheer level of _want_ that pools into him at the sight.

“Jesus, Seb,” Chris breathes, curved over him on hands and knees, and he can’t resist dipping down to redden up that mouth again. The kiss breaks with a groan on both their parts and when Chris swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting a hint of Seb still lingering there, something warm throbs low and needy in his stomach. “What do you want? Anything at all,” he says, meaning it. Whatever the fuck Seb likes, Chris is all in. No reservations. He’d do everything to make Sebastian feel good.

Seb breathes out a shaky breath, eyes half-lidded when he answers, “I want your dick in my mouth.”

Jesus. Okay. Chris can get on board with that.

“God, you’re unreal,” he breathes out the comment when Seb flips their positions, nudging Chris onto his back so he can hover over him, grinning and already reaching for the hem of Chris’ shirt.

“I know you are,” Seb murmurs, leaning down to brush his mouth against Chris’, “but what am I?”

Laughing, Chris lets his hands roam up Seb’s arms, across his shoulders, up the nape of his neck. He’s grinning like an idiot, he can tell. So fucking fond of this guy, it’s unbelievable. “Seb, sweetheart, I’m pretty sure that only works for insults.”

“I just flew three hours,” Seb tells him, “sat in traffic for another forty-five minutes, then stayed awake waiting for you. It’s a miracle I can even remember my name right now, so shut up and take your damn clothes off before I fall asleep on you.” 

Yep, so fucking fond.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Chris grins even wider, hands automatically going to the bottom of his shirt as he helps Seb tug it off.

Once the fabric clears his head, he can see that Seb is already going back in for his pants this time, eagerly unbuttoning and easing down the zipper before they join his shirt on the floor.

“My god,” Seb mutters appreciatively, spreading both palms out flat on Chris’ naked chest. Naturally Chris feels himself starting to blush like crazy at the praise, but Seb’s too busy staring at the bare expanse of his torso to notice.

When he trails his fingers down to the elastic of Chris’ boxer briefs, Chris can’t hold back the soft groan that climbs up from deep in his chest, already flushing hot and breathing hard just from the anticipation alone.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sebastian says, sounding strained and breathless in a way that’s pleasantly surprised when he pulls the boxers down. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s looking at a feast he can’t wait to dig into, and it’s enough to make Chris shut his eyes, skin flushing what feels like fire truck red right now.

He’s still got his eyes closed when he feels the first light touch, fingers loosely curling around the base of his dick and stroking upwards, lazy and soft. That gets his eyes snapping back open, brain really fucking keen on seeing the picture Seb makes straddling his thighs, holding his cock.

The view does not disappoint.

“Jesus, baby,” Chris pants, all the blood instantly leaving his head and rerouting entirely to his dick, leaving him stupid and blissful and so fucking turned on he can’t stand it.

Sebastian grins, giving him one more long, slow stroke before his hand falls away and he’s shifting further down the bed, framed between the open V of Chris’ legs now. “I think I like you calling me baby,” he says, teasing, mouth drawn into a crooked kind of smirk that promises nothing but trouble for Chris’ dick.

“Oh yeah?” Chris replies a bit weakly, unable to offer up much more than single syllables at this point.

Seb’s response comes in the form of an affirmative hum and then that mouth is on him, warm lips and wet tongue mapping up the length of Chris’ cock, and holy shit, either he’s having an aneurism or the whole ‘seeing stars’ cliché is actually a real thing.

His next breath stutters, stuck half way in his throat as his whole body tenses in a conscious effort not to buck his hips up against Sebastian’s face.

“Oh god,” Chris groans when Seb starts mouthing at the already leaking tip, leaving it even pinker and wetter than before. He pulls back to admire his work for a moment, catching his breath, but then he’s right back at it, letting the head push between his lips and sinking all the way down now, taking in as much of Chris as he can.

And Chris...fuck, Chris has no words. It’s good. It’s _so_ good. Jesus.

Seb starts off slow, mouth a tight, wet vacuum around Chris’ dick as he bobs his head, pulling all the way up to let the flushed, sticky-hot head brush against his lips like a kiss, then sliding back down again in one long, controlled movement that feels like torture in its purest, most wonderful form. Chris can’t help but moan - god, it’s unbelievable, he’s never felt like this with anyone before – but he hardly has any time to adjust to the onslaught of sensation before Seb is redoubling his efforts, clearly keen on making Chris come his brains out as quickly and intensely as humanly possible.

It’s a bad idea - Chris knows he shouldn’t, he’s already too close to the edge and this is only gonna push him further - but he has to lift his head, has to watch the top of that soft, dark head of hair move between his thighs, and when he does, it’s almost surreal. Like up to this point everything could have maybe just been some wildly vivid dream, but no, here he is, here _they_ are, and Chris has never felt luckier.

His hand is shaking a little when he moves it down to thread through Seb’s hair, brushing the strands back off his forehead with a gentleness that’s almost funny in how juxtaposed it feels given their current activities.

At the touch Seb angles his head enough to look up but not pull off, and when they make eye contact like that, Seb’s eyes practically sparkling and mouth full of Chris’ dick, that’s it, Chris is toast.

“Oh fuck, Seb-” he chokes out in warning and then the tension in his body snaps and he’s coming, spilling into the hot, wet heat of Seb’s mouth and Seb’s _letting him_ , and god, oh god, oh god.

Seb takes it all patiently, one thumb rubbing slow circles into Chris’ hip while Chris gasps and shudders under him, then he crawls back up the bed, kissing him deep so Chris can taste the come in his mouth and Jesus fuck, it’s so hot he’s gonna lose his mind.

When Seb eventually breaks the kiss, pulling back, it’s only far enough to murmur a fond-sounding reminder of “Breathe, Chris,” against the shell of his ear.

That has the exact opposite effect Sebastian was going for and Chris’ breath catches tight in his chest when Seb’s warm breath and low, honey-rich voice wash over him. Good god.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he finally manages to croak out, breathless and still a little bit brain-dead. “Oh my god, c’mere.”

He tugs at any part of Seb he can get his hands on – one bicep and a hipbone, in this case – until they’re arranged side by side on the mattress, facing each other with almost no space left in between. Right away Chris goes for Seb’s neck, wanting to taste, scrape teeth, suck marks, anything to get Seb moaning and writhing against him.

Wasting no time he gets right to it, swiping his tongue over tanned, smooth skin and then pausing to take in the feeling of Seb’s pulse beating under his lips, tempo definitely quicker than usual. Because of _Chris_. God, what a high that is.

Nuzzling over to the warm spot behind Seb’s ear, he murmurs, “Can I take these off?” letting his fingers trace over the waistband of Seb’s underwear – which, honestly, it’s a miracle they’re still intact at this point.

Sebastian groans, pushing his hips forward in offering. “Yes, god, touch me, please.” He’s got one hand on the back of Chris’ neck, and when Chris mouths across a particularly sensitive area along the hinge of Seb’s jaw, that hand slides up into his hair, grip tightening as he holds Chris’ head there, silently demanding more.

Caught between wanting to moan and laugh, Chris murmurs, “Bossy,” and starts working Seb’s underwear down his hips as best he can while still paying attention to Seb’s jaw, nipping and kissing until Sebastian finally urges his face up.

“You love it,” Seb says with a grin that’s all sex-drunk and lazy, belatedly reaching up to try and smooth out the disaster he’s made of Chris’ hair. 

Chris catches his hand and presses a kiss to the pads of his fingers, eyes trained on Seb when he replies, completely honest, “I do.”

Seb stares at him for a second, processing, and then his mouth’s back on Chris’, hot and insistent, like he’s trying to pour his reply into the kiss; a wordless but loud echo of _yes, yes,_ _me too_.

While his mouth’s busy, Chris lets his hands get to work, thumb rubbing slow and firm over the head of Seb’s now-exposed cock, eliciting a shuddery moan as Sebastian arches into the touch, eyes sliding closed.

 Chris really wants to find out what other kind of noises Seb’ll make for him, so once he’s teased enough to have Seb’s dick rock hard, red and hot to the touch, his fingers glide lower, curious, experimental, and when they skirt around the rim of his hole, Seb makes a throaty noise and shifts his hips up into the touch.

“Oh,” Chris murmurs, a little in awe of the fact that he can pull such a visceral reaction out of Seb’s body. “You want to...?”

“Yeah,” Seb breathes. “If you want to.”

Does he want to. Christ, Chris has only been hoping and dreaming for a moment like this since literally forever. “Jesus, yeah, of course I do,” he answers, kissing Seb twice, soft and quick, just to drive the point home. “Do you...how do you want to do it?”

“There’s stuff in there,” Seb points to the nightstand next to Chris’ side of the bed, so Chris rolls over and proceeds to go hunting through the drawer. The lube’s an easy find - it’s almost right on top – but apparently Seb’s only been engaging in a little solo action as of late because Chris manages to find just a total of two condoms, both of them having been pushed to the very back of the drawer. The selfish, possessive caveman side of him wants to preen at the thought. Good. No one gets this - gets to have Seb naked and hot and moaning, gets to pamper and cherish and make him feel good - but Chris.

“Lie back,” he instructs, nudging Seb down against the pillows then tasting that mouth again. He can’t not. It’s too warm, too sweet and responsive, to ignore.

“Do you know what you’re doing with that?” Sebastian questions when he sees the lube in Chris’ hand, eyebrows going up and lips splitting into a wide, teasing grin.

“I know I’m just a rookie,” Chris says, trying to keep a straight face, “but I can do it. Put me in the game, Coach.”

“Oh my god,” Sebastian completely cracks up at that, laughing and tugging Chris closer despite adding the stern warning of, “no sports metaphors in bed. Especially not ones involving my ass.”

“You’re missing out,” Chris insists, grinning all stupidly as they both move in and kiss again, short but sweet. “I’m hilarious.”

“You,” Seb replies solemnly, “are gonna get yourself kicked out of this room if you don’t start touching me.”

There’s too much fondness colouring his voice for the threat to be even the slightest bit sincere, but nevertheless Chris gets them back on track, running one palm from Seb’s side down to his thigh before slipping it inwards, encouraging Seb to widen the spread of his legs as he skims fingertips over the base of Seb’s cock and down lower still, until Seb’s knees are falling open wide and his breathing’s picked up speed.

God, what a sight he is. Chris has to swallow before he can get any words out, and even then his voice is noticeably rougher when he asks, “You want this?” He’s partially checking in, but mostly he just wants to hear Seb ask for it really damn bad.

“I do,” Sebastian breathes, making a throaty noise when Chris presses the pad of his finger to that little pink furled muscle, not enough to push in, just testing. Teasing. “God, I do, Chris, please, please-”

Thank god he already came once because there’s no way Chris would be able to take his time here otherwise, not with the way Seb’s begging so fucking sweetly.

He pulls his hand back - much to Seb’s disappointment if the frustrated groan it earns him is any indication – and finally pops open the lube, slicking up two fingers with what’s probably an excessive amount, but this is all still kinda new to him and better safe than sorry. Besides, he’s dead set on giving Seb the most satisfying experience he possibly can; making the prep just as good as the actual fucking is definitely one of those goals.

He gets as far as ghosting those two fingers down between Seb’s legs before he stops, looking up when Seb starts to shift around and make a vaguely frustrated noise.

“Come up here,” Seb urges, reaching for the wrist of Chris’ non-lubey hand so he can tug him back up the mattress. “I can’t kiss you like this.”

Fair point. Chris will definitely not say no to more kissing.

“Sap,” he teases, following Seb’s lead and letting himself be maneuvered around until he and Seb are stretched out on their sides and plastered up against each other, face to face.

Sliding one leg over Chris’ hip, Seb pecks him on the lips and grins. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

God, he looks so happy, so perfect like this, Chris can’t tear his eyes away. Totally mesmerized. “Must be,” he agrees, not even trying to banter back, more intent on getting his fingers back in the vicinity of Seb’s ass than anything else.

Seb hikes his leg up further, also clearly ready to get this show on the road from the looks of it, so Chris slips a hand between their bodies, bringing slick fingers down to slip between the two fucking perfect curves that make up Seb’s ass, stroking up and down slowly.

Seb lets out a soft, shuddery breath at the touch, pressing a few lazy-sweet kisses to Chris’ mouth before drawing back enough to murmur, “In, put them in, c’mon, I want to feel it.”

 “Jesus,” Chris breathes, already feeling a little light-headed from, well, _everything_ , so he starts off slow and easy with a single finger, groaning out loud when he feels the way Seb opens up around him, warm and tight and so, so smooth.

“Yeah,” Seb’s voice sounds totally fucked already, low and throaty, sending a direct punch of arousal straight to Chris’ gut, “yeah, c’mon.”

 _Un-fucking-real_ , Chris thinks a bit helplessly, only giving into Seb’s demands for more once that one finger is sliding in and out easy with no resistance. Adding a second feels...substantial. He can really feel Seb stretching to accommodate him now and for a second Chris worries it might actually hurt, but one look at Seb’s face shows him nothing but bliss.

Good. Okay. He can totally do this.

Gaining a little more confidence now, with his free hand Chris feels around blindly for the lube, finally unearthing it from the sheets and fumbling to slick up three fingers this time while Sebastian pants and grinds his dick against the flat of Chris’ stomach, desperate for any kind of stimulation now that Chris’ fingers are gone. It’s hands-down the hottest thing Chris has ever seen in his life and they’ve barely even gotten to the actual fucking yet. Jesus, from the way his heart’s pounding, it feels like there’s a very real chance this might actually kill him.

Bringing his hand back down, there’s some careful effort required when he presses three fingers in this time, going slow and giving Seb time to adjust, but before long Seb is moaning and swearing and tilting his hips back, trying to ride Chris’ fingers, and boy was Chris wrong - _that_ is definitely the hottest thing he will ever see. Jesus Christ.

It feels like he’s about a minute away from spontaneously combusting or maybe coming again, who the fuck knows, when Seb weakly pushes at his arm, panting, “Stop, stop, I’m gonna come too early.”

“Feels good?” Chris murmurs, rubbing his nose along Seb’s before he dips in for a kiss.

Seb reciprocates eagerly, sliding fingers up into the short hair at the back of Chris’ neck and holding tight until they part for air and he answers, a little dazed-sounding, “Mmm, the best. You’re good at that.”

The compliment goes straight to the soft centre of Chris’ heart, and maybe his dick a little too. “You make it easy,” he confesses, kissing Seb again, brief but with feeling, “you make everything feel so easy.” There’s a lot of blatant emotion on his face right now and Chris knows it, but it’s okay, it’s not scary, because he sees all of it mirrored back at him, openly reflected on Seb’s own.

They while away a few more minutes kissing while Chris starts a search party for the condom that’s gotten lost somewhere amongst their messy sheets, feeling around blindly since his eyes and mouth and whole entire _being_ don’t seem to want to leave the fucking beautiful sight he’s got in front of him.

When they inevitably break for air, Sebastian leans his face into Chris’ shoulder and it’s quiet for a moment, aside from both of them breathing a little more audibly than usual, until Seb notes, “You have freckles. On your shoulders.”

He sounds so fucked out on pleasure, almost drunk with it, Chris can’t help but laugh, but then Seb opens his mouth, presses lips and teeth and tongue to the top curve of Chris’ shoulder, tracing over the little smattering of marks living there, and that laugh quickly dissolves into a groan.

“Fuck, baby,” Chris hisses out after Seb leaves one particularly enthusiastic bite on the thick muscle at the side of his neck, reluctantly untangling himself from those grabby octopus arms and sitting up on his knees,  trying to keep his hands from shaking as he gets the condom on.

“Come on,” Seb urges, one hand wrapped around his own dick and eyes half-lidded as he stares up at Chris, breathing hard and hair a fluffed-up mess against clean white pillows. How he manages to look so fucking cute and devastatingly sexy all at once is a total mystery. It seems impossible in theory, and yet here they are. Chris wants to simultaneously wrap him in a giant blanket and fuck him through the mattress all at once.

Fucking first, he decides, shaking himself out of his mesmerized staring when Seb kicks him in the thigh as if to say _hurry the hell up_. Then he can cuddle the shit out of Seb afterwards.

He spares one more second to reach for more lube and slick himself up, and then he’s leaning back over Seb, propped up on one arm with the other holding the base of his dick as he aligns himself just right, and when the head of his cock nestles up snug against Seb’s open, waiting hole, pushing in just a little, they both let out a groan.

 “Do it,” Seb breathes, arching up against him, wanting more, when Chris goes in for another kiss.

Their mouths move lazily against each other for a while until Chris pulls back, resting his forehead against Seb’s and looking him right in the eye as he finally eases his hips forward.

It’s...god.

Oh god.

Fuck.

It’s everything.

Chris sinks all the way in and stays there, head tipped back, eyes closed and panting like he’s just finished a marathon. Heaven exists in the form of Sebastian Stan’s ass. Jesus Christ.

“That okay?” he asks, voice surprisingly tight when he speaks, trying to hold it together.

“Yeah,” Seb answers, sounding a little breathless himself, and god, now out of all moments Chris desperately needs to see the look on his face so he forces his eyes back open, staring down, greedily drinking up every little detail of Seb who’s all flushed and dark-eyed, staring right back.

So when Seb cranes his neck up to kiss him, murmuring, “Move,” against his open mouth, Chris does.

He goes slow, rolling his hips in a long, drawn-out movement that crests like a wave once he’s pressed entirely inside Seb, making him groan with how fucking incredible it feels.

“God, Chris.” Seb’s got his head pressed back into the pillow, pleasure-hazy eyes on Chris as he says, all low and husky and too fucking hot for Chris to handle, “Come on. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Chris swears, instantly feeling his temperature spike, something like lava rolling thick and hot down his spine when those words leave Sebastian’s mouth.

His hips already seem to be well ahead of the game and at Seb’s urging they move without his brain’s input, automatically snapping forward harder than before, until the sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoes around them. It feels filthy. Desperate. Fuck, Chris loves it.

Seb brings one hand up to clutch at the pillow above his head, grip tightening as he breathes out a startled, satisfied noise when Chris does it again. One slow, measured withdrawal that ends in a loud, unforgiving slap of hips driving forward. Hard. With purpose.

“Oh fuck,” Seb moans, wetting his lips as his mouth drops open. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Shit, Seb,” Chris gasps, entire body so overstimulated he almost doesn’t know what to focus on. The tight heat of Seb clenching around him. The way his bicep flexes smooth and strong as he digs fingers into that pillow. The expression of pure, unabashed lust on his face as he looks up at Chris with blown pupils and half-parted lips.

Chris does it again, then again, and again, until Seb is lifting his hips up to meet every harsh thrust and their eyes are locked on each other’s faces and the world ceases to exist outside of this, them, the small, perfect universe they’ve created in the quiet of Sebastian’s bedroom.

Seb’s grip has gone slack on his pillow so Chris reaches for his hand, finds the other one too, and presses both of Seb’s wrists into the mattress on either side of his head, sliding his own palms up until their fingers are intertwining, holding onto each other tight.

And then he really fucking gets to it.

“Oh,” Seb breathes out every time Chris’ hips smack up against his ass now, “oh... _oh_...”

“Fuck,” Chris pants, feeling like he’s got tunnel vision, world narrowed down until there’s nothing other than Seb, lost in sensation. “You have no idea, the things you do to me.”

“Chris,” Seb gasps out between quick, shallow breaths, “oh god, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m gonna come...”

Chris swears again (god, he’s never gonna forget the tone of Seb’s voice in this moment; that breathless, half-cracked sound of desperation and need) and focuses on rolling his hips with even more purpose now. He can feel himself sweating, skin and heart and blood on fire as he fucks into Seb at just the right angle, eliciting a gut-punched sound of pleasure as Seb arches up under him, body going taught and ass clenching tight around Chris’ cock when he starts to come, untouched.

“Jesus, oh god Seb, fuck, _fuck_ \- ” Chris tries to fuck Seb through it but he’s too close to the edge, the feeling of Sebastian contracting even tighter and hotter around him is more than he can take and he lets go with a groan, managing two more thrusts before he stays buried deep, panting and shaking with his head tucked into the sweaty curve of Seb’s neck.

They stay like that, breathing hard and totally wrung-out, until the combination of cooling sweat and come gets too uncomfortable and Chris heaves himself up off of Seb, carefully pulls out to make a quick disposal of his condom, then flops back down onto the mattress beside him.

“Oh my god,” Seb pants, starfished out and flat on his back. “Roll me over in ten minutes and we’ll do that again.”

Chris laughs and as bone-tired as he feels, looking over at Sebastian all sated and happy and sweaty next to him, cracking jokes in the aftermath of earth-shattering sex, fills him right back up to the brim with a bright, buoyant kind of warmth that could power him for hours, days, _months_ more.

Rolling over in one quick, smooth movement, he traps Seb underneath his body and grins down at him, whispering, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Seb murmurs back, face splitting into an equally wide, giddy grin as he ruffles a hand through Chris’ sex-crazy hair.

They stare at each other a little dumbly for a minute and Chris can’t tell who – one of them or maybe both – initiates another kiss and before long they’re making out slow and deep and lazy, hands roaming and legs entwined.

God, it’s heaven, kissing Seb, Chris thinks. Paradise. Nirvana. Everything he’s ever wanted and a bunch more he’s sure he doesn’t deserve, but he’ll take it. He’ll take it and treasure it and spend for fucking ever striving to be worthy of it – of Seb.

Seb makes a low, happy rumbling sound when Chris starts rocking their hips together again, and the heat in Chris’ gut builds and builds and builds until he’s shifting further down the mattress, kissing reverent paths down Sebastian’s throat, his chest, his abs.

“I thought I said ten minutes,” Seb says in mock-complaint, head tipping back and eyes sliding shut.

“I’m a punctual guy,” Chris looks up, grinning against the flat of Seb’s stomach, “I like to be early.”

Sure enough, it only takes eight until Sebastian is panting and dark-eyed, shoving Chris onto his back and making him bite back a groan, but by then they’re both too distracted to think about timing it.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

“I can’t look,” Chris declares, making a face as he shoves Sebastian’s tablet back into his hands. “Here, you read it.”

They’re sitting side by side in bed with the New York Times website pulled up on Sebastian’s iPad. Their _Lobby Hero_ review has just gone up online, and Chris might be having a minor panic attack at the moment.

Fuck, what if they totally rip him apart? Leave a smear on his career that’ll never go away? Ten years from now, people could still be laughing, _hey remember that time Chris Evans thought he could do Broadway?_ _What a delusional idiot. Ha ha ha._

Maybe he should just cut his losses now, Chris thinks with a frown. Change his name and escape to the remote hills of Wyoming.  He could probably learn how to take up cattle ranching. It would be a simple life; mountains, manure, manual labour. At least cows don’t get judgemental over major acting flops.

“It can’t be that bad,” Sebastian says, rolling his eyes like he knows exactly how much Chris is mentally overreacting already.

“I’m pretty sure it can be,” Chris insists with complete seriousness. He pauses for a moment, thoughtful, before asking, “How d’you think I’d do in Wyoming?”

If there’s a way for someone to snort affectionately, Seb has mastered it. “Terribly,” he answers, leaning over to give Chris a quick consolatory kiss on the mouth before settling back against the headboard and starting to skim through the beginning of the article, looking for the section specifically about Chris. “Okay, here we go. Ready?”

“Yeah. Guess so.” Chris swallows, a little dry-throated all of a sudden. God, his insides are a mess right now.

“Alright...” Seb goes quiet for a second, eyes searching out the right spot in the article, then he begins to read: “...but perhaps the real heroes lie in the compelling assembly of cast members. Chris Evans approaches his Broadway debut as Bill, the imperious veteran cop, with an earnest authenticity that feels both fresh and well-practiced. Nuanced and honest in his performance, it’s clear Evans loves the stage, and, as fortune would have it, the stage clearly loves him in return.”

“Well.” Chris blinks. “That’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad?!” Seb looks at him like he’s randomly developed two more heads. “Chris, you literally couldn’t bribe them into writing a better review than this!” He pauses, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You didn’t bribe them, did you?”

“What – no I didn’t bribe them!” Chris laughs, giving Seb a shove on the shoulder that has him bursting out into laughter now too. Mutually relieved and giddy now that the stress of the unknown is out of the way. “Did I bribe them. Jesus. Remind me why I like you again?”

“My steely good looks and winning personality,” Seb automatically recites, tossing the tablet aside so he can devote his full attention to giving Chris shit now, rolling up onto his knees and moving to straddle Chris’ lap, letting his full weight settle onto Chris’ thighs like he plans on staying there a while. Chris is definitely not opposed to that idea.

He snorts in response, bringing both hands up to rest on Seb’s hips and trying not to let any fondness seep into his voice, though he’s sure it’s already written all across his face. “Yeah. Must be that.”

“I’m gonna print that article and frame it,” Seb announces. “No, wait, better yet, we’ll go out and buy a copy. Two copies. I have to mail one to your mom.”

Chris groans, tipping his head back as he grimaces up at the ceiling. “Stop, she already loves you enough as it is.”

“That’s not true,” Sebastian says, which, Chris knows, is an outright lie.

“Yes it is,” he insists, letting his fingertips sneak up underneath the edge of Seb’s shirt now, going right for the most ticklish spots below his ribcage. “You and Scott both. You’re conspiring to dethrone me from my spot as Favourite Son.”

Seb squirms and pushes Chris’ hands away, trying not to outright grin. “The Times was wrong,” he says, making a move like he’s about to stretch back across the mattress and retrieve his tablet, “I should make a formal complaint. They definitely forgot to mention how much of a drama queen you are.”

“Fuck you,” Chris laughs, grabbing Seb firmly around the waist and rolling his weight, tackling Seb and pinning him down against the mattress before he can even come close to snatching up the iPad.

There’s a bit of a brief, playful scuffle before Seb gives in and grins up at him, all charm and purposely half-lidded eyes when he murmurs, “Maybe later if you ask nice.”

Fuck, does he ever know how to play Chris like a well-used fiddle.

His dick chooses to interpret ‘later’ as ‘right this very second’ and Chris has to stifle a groan against the side of Seb’s neck. He’s still not used to this; Seb looking at him the way he does, wanting him just as much as Chris does in return. It feels like a dream he could still wake up from at any moment. Too good, too perfect, too happy, to exist in real life.

“You did good, you know,” Seb murmurs, craning up to kiss him. “You should be really damn proud of yourself.”

When Chris kisses him back it’s firm and sweet, a silent thank you. “I feel good about the play,” he admits against Seb’s mouth when they part, “but the best part of these last few months, the thing I’m most proud of, most grateful for...that isn’t it.”

Sebastian’s expression melts into what can only be described as disbelief colliding with awe. "Chris...”

“I love you,” he confesses. Finally. Out loud. For the very first time. “God, Seb, I love you so fucking much, you have no idea.”

It should probably feel scary putting all that out there, finally saying those words right to Seb’s face, but he’s known it for so long now - already spoken so many silent I love you’s in his own head, already shown it in the form of long looks and too-familiar touches - that when the words do come out, his voice is steady. His hands don’t shake. His eyes stay locked with Sebastian’s own, never nervously sliding away.

Sebastian blinks, draws in a breath, then, with a noise that sounds like a combination of a laugh and a tiny bit of a sob, he pulls Chris’ forehead down to rest against his and repeats, “Such a fucking drama queen,” before closing the last of the space between them.

The kiss is heated and Chris immediately falls into the rhythm of it, letting Seb take control and deepen things until they’re panting for air and it feels like Sebastian’s tongue knows the inside of Chris’ mouth just as well as its own.

“I love you too. God, I do,” Seb murmurs against his mouth, interspersing the words with more tiny, brief presses of his lips to Chris’. “You have to know that by now.”

“I’d hoped,” Chris admits, “but I’m also pretty bad at picking up on obvious signals.”

“I’ll say.” Seb grins, sliding a hand up into the back of Chris’ hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, making Chris hum out a pleased, happy noise. “When we were at that club, I thought I’d have to actually climb you like a tree before I ever got my point across.”

Chris huffs out a faint laugh. “God, that club.” The thought alone is enough to make his pants feel a little tighter. That’s going to be one of those vivid, perfectly preserved memories that’ll stay with him forever, he knows. He’s never felt that much, fallen that hard, for anyone before that night. It was like magic, like a dream, being with Seb that way. “If you could have seen yourself that night...fuck, the things I wanted to do to you.”

“You should have,” Seb’s eyes darken, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, “I wanted you to.”

“Fuck.” Forget tight, Chris’ pants are well past the border of uncomfortable now. He drops some of his weight down, pelvis flush against Seb’s now in an effort to gain a little relief. “We should go back there sometime.”

Sebastian immediately rolls his hips up into Chris’, giving them both the friction they want. “Why, so you can get us kicked out for indecent exposure?”

“No,” Chris drags the word out slowly, like he’s not 100% convinced that he wouldn’t, but also because he’s a little unfocused now that they’re pretty much grinding against each other.

Seb laughs, the sound morphing into a breathless groan when Chris finds just the right angle to make their erections rub up alongside each other. “You know,” he drops his voice to a warm murmur, looking up at Chris with half-lidded eyes, “it _has_ been a long time since I’ve fucked in a bathroom stall.”

“Oh my god,” Chris drops his head, chuckling weakly against Seb’s shoulder and trying not to visualize that too thoroughly in case his dick jumps the gun and he completely embarrasses himself. “Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.”

“You need mouth to mouth?” Seb grins, brows arching half way up his forehead, and that only makes Chris laugh harder.

“That’s fucking terrible,” he says fondly, kissing the underside of Seb’s jaw before propping himself back up on his elbows to look down at Seb’s face. “I thought I was the one with the bad lines. You’re supposed to be the smooth guy!”

Seb shrugs as much as he can manage given the way Chris is still entirely draped over him. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“A bad influence, or the best influence?” Chris offers, contemplative, already leaning back in to reacquaint his mouth with the warm, slightly stubbled skin where Seb’s jaw meets the side of his neck. He still smells a little like yesterday’s aftershave and that, combined with the five o’clock shadow he’s sporting despite it being ten in the morning, creates a scene Chris’ dick is most definitely interested in. “Don’t shave today,” he adds as an afterthought, feeling Seb’s throat vibrate under his lips as he laughs.

“Yeah? You want me to rough you up a little?” Seb cranes his neck up, trying to rub his scratchy cheek all over Chris’ face.

Laughing, Chris automatically recoils at the too-rough texture. “Oh, I want it,” he assures Seb, grinning down at him with a far from innocent expression, “just not on my face.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chris answers his phone on the third ring, not bothering to check the caller ID. There’s only one person who calls him at 10 on the nose every night, and that knowledge has him already smiling before he’s even lifted the phone all the way to his ear.

“Hey babe,” he greets, trying to shove a curious Dodger’s wet nose away from the microphone when the dog instantly perks up from where he’s been snoozing on a couch cushion, curled into a ball and pressed against Chris’ thigh.

“Hey.” The sound of Seb’s voice feels like way more of a comfort than the surrounding walls of Chris’ home in LA. In fact, the longer he spends in New York, the less this place feels like any kind of home at all. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Chris replies, even though he wants to. _I miss you_ , he’s dying to say. _I miss your too-small apartment and your weird hipster pizzas and the feeling of your head laying in my lap_. But voicing all of that isn’t going to do any good, and besides, they’ve traded enough middle of the night I-can’t-sleep-I-wish-you-were-here texts for Chris to be well aware that Seb feels the same when it comes to spending any extended amount of time apart. It fucking sucks, just like he knew it would, but they make it work.

It’s worth it. They’re worth it.

“So it looks like I have to film a thing in Boston next month,” Sebastian says, drawing Chris out of his own head. He can practically _feel_ the grin on Seb’s face from the tone of his voice alone, just as bright and smiley and stupidly attractive as ever. “Got any ideas of where I could stay?”

Chris laughs, feeling some of that gloom and longing drain out of him, replaced with a lighter, fizzling sense of anticipation that settles all snug and warm in the centre of his chest.

A month. He can hardly wait.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling into the phone like an idiot. “I think I might know a guy.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we've reached the end! Thank you guys so much for all the amazing support for this fic! I'll be taking a little break to recharge the creative batteries, but then I'll be back filling some requests for In So Many Words. See you then! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to add a little bonus chapter about Chris and Seb returning to the scene of the crime (the scene being the club, the crime being that they didn't act on their feelings that night) so here it is! :D

 

“Hey there.” Chris sidles up to the man sitting at the bar, flashing him a smile before leaning in and resting his elbow on the slightly sticky counter top, lowering his voice as he asks, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Immediately making a grossed-out face, Sebastian shakes his head. “Try again, but maybe less... creepy predator.”

Chris rolls his eyes, takes two steps back, then walks up to Seb again, this time saying, “Hello, I have a ten inch penis. Can I buy you a drink?”

Sebastian snorts so hard, for a second Chris worries he might have sprained something. “Oh my god,” Seb laughs, practically doubled over as he smacks one palm down on the counter, absolutely delighted. “No. _Hard_ no. How did you ever manage to pick up women?”

Chris shrugs, frowning a little. “The ten inch dick thing usually did it.”

“Well it certainly wasn’t your personality,” Seb agrees, laughing again when Chris lets out an offended noise, one hand pressed to his chest like he’s physically wounded.

“Hey, fuck you!” he says, struggling to keep a straight face despite the way his mouth keeps threatening to curve up into a grin.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Seb replies, “but you’re pretty horrible at this whole role-play thing. Are you sure you’re an actor?” He tilts his head questioningly, a tiny, teasing smile pulling at his lips.

“Ohhh, and the shots just keep coming. Jesus, is this a date or a roast?” Chris chuckles, taking another step in until he’s standing  between Seb’s spread knees, unable to stop one hand from sliding along the nearest jean-covered thigh.

Sebastian automatically looks up at him, having to tilt his head back a considerable amount given the stool he’s still sitting on, and god, his eyes. Chris could devour him right here, right now.

When Seb smiles up at him it’s so exaggeratedly sweet, like he’s been nothing but a saint all night, Chris can’t help but grin back. “God, I fuckin’ love you,” he says, reaching up with his free hand and running it through Seb’s hair.

Seb briefly closes his eyes at the contact, and when they reopen they’re blacker. Bigger.  Wanting. “Even when I’m busting your balls?” he murmurs as Chris slowly trails his thumb down Seb’s temple, cheek, jaw, until the pad is dragging across Seb’s bottom lip.

“Especially when you’re busting my balls,” Chris promises, pressing his thumb just a little harder into Seb’s lip. Like a kiss. There are too many eyes around for him to do it properly here at the bar, but once they reach the dark, crowded anonymity of the dance floor, it’s no holds barred. No amount of touching off limits. God, Chris’ breath is coming out faster just from the thought, the anticipation, alone.

Reaching for Seb’s hand, he pulls him up off the stool. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

The belly of the club is just as dim and warm and crammed full of bodies as he remembers. Chris can feel his skin heating up already as he and Seb claim a little corner of the floor for themselves. His shirt already feels damp and sticky at his back, but he barely has any time to register it before things go from hot to volcanic as Seb immediately pulls him in by the back of the neck, kissing him hard.

 Chris groans into the kiss, surrendering, feeling like he’s just along for the ride, just trying to keep up as Seb’s mouth moves against his, kisses wet and deep and frantic.

“God, baby,” he murmurs when Seb finally lets him up to breathe a few minutes later, pressing his nose into Chris’ cheek as they both pant for air, bodies rolling together but barely paying any attention to the actual rhythm of the music.

“I wanted to do that so badly,” Seb speaks into his ear, voice a low, vibrating rumble that does all kinds of painful, wonderful things to Chris’ dick, “the last time we were here.”

“Seb,” Chris groans, letting his hands slide lower, from Sebastian’s hips down around to the curve of his ass. He squeezes - just enough to have Seb’s breath hitching - then initiates another kiss, this one slower but no less needy.

Both of Seb’s arms loop around Chris’ neck on instinct and they lose time like that, kissing and grinding and touching; Seb’s hands roaming across Chris’ shoulders and up into his hair, Chris’ hands never straying from where they’re still firmly planted on Seb’s ass, making Seb chuckle into their next kiss.

God, that butt though. Chris could compose an entire opera about it.

“How much longer d’you want to stay?” he asks loudly, keeping his mouth close enough to Seb’s ear to hopefully allow Seb to hear him clearly. He needs to continue things back at the apartment sooner rather than later; despite their night being no holds barred, Chris has a feeling it would still probably be frowned upon for him to drop to his knees right here and pay proper homage to that ass.

Fuck, Chris has gotta get his mouth on it right the hell now, needs to eat Seb out like he’s dying for it, wants to hear Seb groan and pant and say Chris’ name over and over in that strained, fucked-out way he does whenever he’s delirious with pleasure.

Seb lets one arm drop from around Chris neck, sneaking his hand between their bodies and pressing the flat of his palm to the crotch of Chris’ jeans, like he’s trying to use the current state of Chris’ hard-on to gauge how much longer they can keep this up before Chris accidentally comes in his pants.

Chris would laugh about it, except Seb’s actually freakishly good at reading his body. Like a boner whisperer.

“One more song,” Seb mouths over the deafening pulse of the music, curving that hand until he’s fully groping Chris’ erection through his jeans, smiling like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Chris.

Such a fucking tease. God, just for that, Chris is gonna really drag things out when they get home, not letting Seb come until he’s crying for it, spread out on sweaty, rumpled sheets, flushed and needy and begging to get fucked...and Chris really needs to stop that train of thought right now for the sake of his already-precarious boner situation.

“Seb, they’re like twelve-minute songs!” he protests, but either Seb doesn’t hear him or he’s chosen to conveniently ignore Chris’ complaint. Given how hard he’s been working to make Chris’ life a series of painfully-aroused difficulties tonight, it’s probably the latter.

Jesus, Chris is gonna die. There’s no way he can keep this up.

Desperate to relieve some of the stimulation on his dick, Chris shoves his knee between Seb’s legs and uses his grip on Seb’s ass to pull him in even tighter, forcing him to ride the hard line of Chris’ thigh and god, like this he can tell exactly how turned on Seb is too; his own dick feeling hot and swollen even through all their layers of clothing when it rubs up against Chris.

A particularly well-angled roll of Seb’s hips has his mouth dropping open and he stares at Chris for a second before yanking him into another hard, heated kiss, tongues sliding together, and all Chris can do is try to cling to the remainder of his sanity, counting the minutes until he can get Seb home.

 

* * *

 

 

Naked and panting with hands grabbing all over each other, Sebastian pushes Chris onto the mattress and immediately climbs on top of him, pupils dark and blown as he leans in, head dipping down and noses brushing as he says, “Hi. What’s a fella like you doing in a pl-”

Chris surges up, cutting him off with a kiss that barely lasts a second before they’re both laughing into it, grinning stupidly against each other’s mouths instead.

“Fucking dork,” Chris murmurs fondly, still chuckling a little as he runs his hands over Seb’s bare back, thrusting up just as he presses down on the small of Seb’s back, grinding both their erections together hotly.

“God,” Sebastian groans, shivering under the warm, heavy slide of Chris’ palms. “They’re _your_ bad pick-up lines.”

“They’re not bad,” Chris argues, nosing Seb into another kiss that, as per usual, drags on longer and deeper than originally intended. “I mean,” he pants out, continuing once they’ve broken apart, “I got you to come home with me, didn't I?”

Seb shakes his head, announcing, “I’m just here for the ten inch dick,” before sputtering out a laugh as Chris tackles him onto his back, pinning him down before jabbing fingers into his ticklish sides.

And god, Chris thinks, grinning down at Seb who’s still trying to wriggle free from Chris’ hold - hair a mess, eyes all lit up and flushed in the cheeks - he must be the luckiest guy in the whole entire planet.

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [最佳男主角](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116848) by [sashach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashach/pseuds/sashach)




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